bouquet
by trimurti
Summary: [FE7] A pre-marriage Pent/Louise short story series influenced by Victorian flower language. Now fully complete!
1. Sprig and Sapling

Bouquet

(C) Intelligent Systems and Nintendo

-0-

The Sprig: Sweet Alyssum  
(_worth beyond beauty_)

It was rare indeed when Louise found herself spending time alone with her dear father. Although theirs was a close family, it was not unusual for her father to be gone during the daylight hours so that he might oversee the matters of the land. It used to be that she would accompany him in order to better understand the various factors that went into maintaining the farmland and the exporting of produce. Although of course her future husband would take control of such matters, she was still the heiress and neither of her parents cared to deprive her of any sort of education. Now that she was thirteen, the thoughts of her parents had turned to making sure she was a marriageable lady, and as a result the trips she had once taken many times a week with her father now dwindled to every so often, provided that her progress in her lessons was more than adequate. Since they would never deprive her of her precious archery lessons, Louise found this to be acceptable--although she still missed those times with her father, never mind that he was always home by dinner.

So it was a treat indeed when she found herself sharing afternoon tea with him out on the veranda; late spring and mid-autumn were the best times of the year in the county of Alloway, located in southwestern Etruria. Her mother was visiting relatives in Aquleia, but as neither her mother nor her mother's city-bound relatives liked each other very much, it was deemed safer by all if as little of fuss as possible was taken about the whole event. Louise used to wonder why her mother, who not only bucked tradition but had knocked it down onto its knees and walked over it by marrying an untitled nobleman when she herself was the only child of a duke and cousin to the king would even bother visiting people she detested, but once Louise began her lessons to become a lady she understood. As a female of noble heritage, she traded her freedom for comfort, assured by all that it was the right and good choice. If she had been meant to wield power she would have been born a man, or at least had some talent at magic so she could be eligible to one day become Mage General of the Kingdom of Etruria, the only generalship granted to either sex.

Louise did not want power, not really, but rather a simple happiness. As happiness to her was to love and be loved, and noblewomen did not marry for such, she found herself being at odds with who she was and what she was meant to do. An identity crisis at thirteen--she sighed to think about it.

"What troubles my little Louise today? You haven't even touched your food."

She started a little, her cheeks warm as she realized that she had drifted off. Unbecoming, her tutor would have said. "Forgive me, Father, I was only admiring the freshness of the scones today," she murmured, giving the raspberry-dotted thing the evil eye. Her tutor had commanded her not three days ago to lose weight before the next dinner with the other nobles of the area; already developing and shorter than the other girls, Louise was at a disadvantage in emulating the newest style: to be Sacaean-slender and tall (the green hair and eyes, though, were thankfully not a requirement).

"Hm." Stroking his short, well-kept beard, her father looked thoughtful. "They are amazingly fresh, are they not? I've always been proud of Ellie's skill with small treats. However, I suspect that was not what caused your rather downtrodden look," he commented, and she could not help the small gasp that escaped her. "I thought as much. Are you already so old that you cannot talk to your father? I promise to keep it a secret from your mother, if it would help." He grinned, and in return she could not help her smile.

"But it's such a silly thing, Father."

"Your mother's father often says the same of me, so I think that would make me even more able to understand."

Louise couldn't deny that; her maternal grandfather was a gruff, begrudgingly-affectionate old man with a distinct distaste of their life 'in the country', as their home was referred to in the capital. "Mm...but I don't find you silly, Father," she said with a wide smile. The look he gave her in return was so fond that she found she no longer had the will to fight. "I suppose I've been wondering...hm, perhaps you might be displeased with me."

He said nothing for a long while, then, in measured tones, "If you've broken something of your mother's again, I suppose I might be disposed towards being a bit unhappy, yes. You know very well how precious your mother thinks those baubles of hers are."

"Um, no, I've not touched Mother's jewelry since...that time." Father and daughter shuddered at the memory-- 'precious' was an understatement. "Rather, I was thinking...that my being a girl was troublesome...in a sense..." Her voice became quieter and quieter as she watched her father's right eyebrow rise higher and higher, a golden arch of confusion. "Perhaps?" she squeaked out after a moment.

"This is where the ruination starts," her father said quietly. "I've noticed the change in you recently, but I thought it not my place to talk of these matters. After all, be it far from me to step in front of what is _right_ and _proper_." His tone was distinctly bitter, and she flinched inside to hear her kind father speak in such a way. "Come with me, Louise," he stated, rising from his seat and walking towards the fields in long strides. She followed him as quickly as she could without appearing rushed, frantic--it wouldn't do for one such as herself, or so she had been lectured.

They walked out to the point where they could easily see the work that was being done now, as the afternoon sun resolutely began its descent. Land was being tilled, crops for the autumn harvest were being planted, and the ripening early summer crops were being cared for by the tenants of the land. Her father, while born as part of the gentry (although their Etruscan heritage preferred to call a spade a spade and their family part of the _petit bourgeoisie_), had been bolstered by both his wife's connections and his friendship with the count to be granted a title of his own--esquire, though he had never served in the military. Louise thought that, although he seemed appreciative of the benefits that arose from possessing such a title, he did not like it very much.

"Do you see them work, Louise?" She nodded, though he was looking out at the fields.

"Yes, Father. They work hard, as usual."

"Mm. They do. They know things that any nobleman would consider bothersome."

"Father?"

"Everything has its own place. Apples are to be picked from trees, while potatoes are to be picked from the ground. It would be silly to till the land for apples, as it makes no sense to prepare precious land for something that cannot naturally be found in the ground. Do you see?"

"Yes, somewhat."

Looking down at her, he smiled in a gentle manner. "Good, good. Honesty will serve you well, no matter what others say." He patted her on the head. "What you don't understand now, and consequently what the entire sphere of nobility will never choose to understand, is that these things are not interchangeable. Apples and potatoes are two different crops and will always stay separate from the other. And so it is with humans."

"Oh," said Louise, who was still confused. Her father seemed to sense this, because he knelt down and looked up at her, his rough hands loosely holding onto her upper arms.

"In other words, my dear, you can only be yourself until the end." She looked down, uncomfortable; his words were far from what her tutors said. "I know you have been told differently, but you must never believe it. What everyone else save myself and your mother will lead you to believe is that you must become everything proper society wants you to be. But does your mother follow these trends?"

Shyly, Louise shook her head. Her mother was everything but what she was expected to be, if the mumblings Louise had heard in proper company were to be believed.

"Of course not. Louise, you must always remember this. What I am about to tell you will lead you to happiness should you follow it." Her father's eyes, pale blue, held hers in a serious gaze for a long moment; in that moment, she felt she would never forget the way he looked right then. "Beauty is as transient as the seasons. You must find within yourself worth beyond beauty."

She stared at him, a strange feeling dawning over her. It felt like the icy touch of fear. "Worth...beyond beauty? But, Father..." She was afraid to say the next words, the truth about her and Etrurian society that she could never breach.

_I am but a woman._

"Yes," he said, as if he already knew what was running through her mind like a frightened doe. "It is difficult to believe, considering what your tutors may have told you and your entrances into society. Once you begin in earnest to secure for yourself a husband, it will be all you hear. And perhaps by then, you will have matured to become the perfect woman at the right time and marry far beyond our humble station. But afterwards, when you are no longer perfect, what will you have that is your own?"

Discouraged could not even begin to describe her emotional decline--what did she have, indeed? "My bow?" she returned in a hopeless half-whisper. Inexplicably, her father smiled.

"You will have your skill in archery, yes. That is a start." Standing up, he released her arms to brush dirt from his knees before he offered her his arm with a wink. "You answered very well."

"I did?" she asked as she placed her hand on the crook of his elbow. "Maybe I should learn more things, like cooking."

She could hear the smile in his words as he said, "As you like, Louise." When she looked up at him she saw that his profile was strong, just like her mother's, and she thought that she might like to be just like her parents.

Later, Louise would ponder at length on her father's advice, breaking it down to manageable pieces and consuming it bit by bit until it became her own philosophy. It may have been another hint of her family's eccentricity, their amiable madness that made them the very image of country nobility whenever such a topic was broached among city nobility, but to that sweet child it was nothing less than everything she should and would aspire to as a lady of Etruria. She grasped onto it as easily as she did her own bow, and like her skill in archery it was something to be honed and wielded.

She grasped onto it as tightly as she did her own bow, one year later, before she stepped forward and presented everything she was to the kind-eyed noble who called himself Count Reglay.

The Sapling: Cypress  
(_death_)

Pent was waiting for his father to die.

It seemed to come from of nowhere, this sickness that was now grimly marching on through his father's body like an invading army, but Pent supposed that he simply had never noticed the early stages. They were not close, never had been, and now never would. But since this was the man who had sired him, every afternoon Pent would be obligated to take whatever book he was reading and sit at his father's bedside until it was time for dinner. He read quietly, making notes and jotting down annotations as if he were in the castle's library; in front of him his father slept the sleep of the perpetually drugged.

Pent didn't know what he would do if his father woke. And so, he would think years later, it was both necessary and sad that his younger self held onto the hope that he never would.

-0-

While the snow fell, Count Reglay stirred.

As calmly as he could, Pent rang for the doctor, who had moved in to oversee his father's sickness. The bell sounded like broken glass, and perhaps that was why Count Reglay opened his eyes. "Father," Pent said, his voice quiet from disuse, "please, go back to sleep."

His father's gaze wavered over to him. There was no recognition in those eyes, and inwardly Pent sighed. He flexed his hand for a moment before carefully laying it upon his father's shoulder. "Father, please. You must rest if you wish to get better."

Dark eyes focused on Pent's face. They looked indignant, all the lines scrunching around them like wrinkled cloth, but there was no other movement on Count Reglay's face. Then, a twitch of his lips. "I..." he breathed.

Frowning, Pent lowered his head to better catch his father's words. "Yes, Father?"

"I am...going to die."

Pent flinched and sat up in his chair, giving his father a stare too surprised to be a glare. He might have said something, but the count had closed his eyes and fallen back into slumber. Just then, the doctor entered the room. "Has something happened?" the doctor inquired.

"He woke up." There was a pause, and then Pent stood. "Is he in any pain, from what you have observed?"

"He complains of it, when he can." The doctor, trained in the arts of the apothecary and not the healing arts of Saint Elimine, pulled out a vial from his coat. "Shall I increase the dosage of sleeping drug? It should give him some comfort."

Glancing down at his father, Pent could not say that he was entirely certain of that; Count Reglay was sleeping, but his chest barely rose. It felt more like looking at a corpse at a wake than a normal person's rest; was that really better than being in pain? Closing his eyes, Pent pinched the bridge of his nose.

He wasn't even sixteen. How could he make these choices when he barely knew what it meant to live?

Finally, he lowered his hand and opened his eyes. "Please do so," he answered, and left the room without a glance back.

-0-

Reglay Castle was like a tomb.

Pent walked its halls while catching only the briefest glimpses of the servants. He thought that there had been more of them, but perhaps they had left to work in other households. The steward and the head housemaid had talked to him a couple times when he had first arrived home from Aquleia, but he supposed he had acted too distant and they had decided to follow their own intuition when it came to their jobs. There was no justification for his actions, although everyone else was keen to make them for him. 'Lord Pent is deeply troubled by his father's illness,' or somesuch, he surmised. He wasn't sure how to feel about that.

He wanted to go back to the academy and throw himself into his studies. There was a comfort there that he could not find in the hallowed halls of his childhood home, and he felt more for it than he did here, where everyone called him lord and master. He had been working in courses so advanced that he was the only student in them, assisting researchers in mapping out the intricate framework of anima spells. But once the messenger had come with the news of his father's collapse, everyone at the academy had pulled away from him, as if now that there was a chance he would become the new Count Reglay he would have no more time for them and the mysteries of anima magic.

Walking the empty halls, he reached the foyer and frowned when he realized where he was. As if his face had been grasped by a hand and forced to turn, he gazed at the top of the stairs, where a portrait was placed so that all the attention would be on it. It was a magnificent portrait done by the leading painter of that time, when his mother had still been alive. It was said that he took after her in looks, but he didn't need anyone to tell him what his eyes could see for themselves; she wore her storm cloud-gray hair in the style of the times, in elegant pinned-up twists that left only a few strategic locks to frame her oval face and her eyes shone to match the amethysts in her necklace.

Pent didn't remember her. She had died of some wasting disease when he was young, and he had been sent to one relative after another before finally being placed in school, where he flourished. Occasionally he would visit home, and rarely he would actually see his father. But Count Reglay dutifully paid for his schooling and encouraged his studies in magic by throwing more money around, so he supposed he should be grateful. After all, it wasn't as if it was any different for his peers.

Still though, Pent thought he might like to be a different sort of father.

-0-

His father was awake when Pent entered the room a few days later. Mid-winter, the castle was unbearably cold, but his father had tossed aside some of the many layers of blankets that had wrapped him in a cocoon of warmth the last time Pent had seen him.

"Sit," his father said, his voice a mumble of what it once was. Pent did so, feeling strangely agitated about his father's apparent recovery. It seemed that the count was trying to rally his strength, appear like his former self, but Pent could see it for the farce it was and was disturbed by it.

"Father," Pent mumbled, numb with discontent, "you are looking better."

Those words seemed to do something to the count's veneer of strength, for he seemed to deflate. Pent's eyes widened with surprise and fear--what was happening? He rang for the doctor over and over again until all he could hear was the bell, a death toll for his father. The doctor rushed in. "What is happening?" he exclaimed. "Is he--"

"Leave!" his father shouted, upper body up and his arms as leverage as he put everything he had into that single word, before he collapsed onto the bed and began to convulse. Pent leapt up from his seat, then froze--what was he supposed to do? As the doctor surged forward and tried to hold his father down, struggling to fill him up with more medicine so his father could sleep the rest of his life away, Pent could only watch in horror.

He wanted to run. Run out of the room, out of the castle, out of the county of Reglay and the kingdom entirely. He had never felt so keenly that he needed to leave and never come back. He didn't want to deal with this, never thought he would be watching his father die without dignity before his eyes just months before his sixteenth birthday--what was he supposed to do!

Clenching his jaw, Pent stood and turned his head away as the doctor grasped his father's face and forced the contents of one of those vials into the count's mouth. Moments later, his father seemed to calm, then his body slackened. "It is done," the doctor said, and Pent could detect a mocking tone towards him, as if the doctor viewed him as a coward for not...for not doing what, exactly? Restraining his lord father?

The doctor left, and a maid briskly walked in, probably to straighten up his father. "Stop," Pent said.

"Milord?"

"Please leave," he said. "I will take care of him."

"But milord, I--"

Pent turned to her and tried to smile. "Please."

Maybe she saw something in his expression that he didn't know how to articulate, because he soon heard her quiet footfalls as she left the room. Turning to Count Reglay, Pent leaned in to rearrange the blankets around his body. His father's mouth was open, saliva streaking the corners of his lips. Suddenly shamed, Pent closed his father's mouth and took out his handkerchief to make the count look more dignified. Presentable.

He wanted to laugh at that thought. Then, he wanted to cry. This wasn't that stern, proper Count Reglay that watched over everything that was his in that exacting, precise manner, as if everything could be calculated to the coin. This wasn't that distant man who had sired him, the man who had given him everything he could ever want except a reason other than the proper relation to call him father. This was a sick man who still couldn't find the same release of death as his wife had found ten years ago.

Slumping down in his chair, Pent closed his eyes and pretended that the reason why his eyes throbbed with raw heat was because of eyestrain.

-0-

It was the month of light, the first month of the new year, when his father awoke for the last time. Pent was reading, undisturbed by the chill seeping into the room. He sat in his father's room all the time now, not just for that restricted time between afternoon tea and dinner, and read as much as he could. It was no longer his studies that he focused on, but various ordinances and letters that needed to be settled. Since there was no hope of his father's recovery, it was up to him now to fulfill the role of Count Reglay--though he fully intended to continue his studies as a mage and as a man who loved magic. His sixteenth birthday was next month, and already he had heard mutterings over a celebration, though he hoped not.

His father groaned.

Immediately, Pent put aside the documents he had been perusing and leaned towards his father, grasping one frail, bony hand. He had been feeling a bad omen as of late, and now when he glimpsed his father's face he knew it was time.

His father opened his eyes.

Hazy-eyed from a mixture of pain and the medicinal creations used to suppress said pain, his father seemed to glance at some point beyond Pent's shoulder. It was by coincidence that their eyes would meet now, as his father surrendered himself to God's hands, and when they did he saw his father's eyes widen as if the elder man was seeing him for the first time. Perhaps, Pent thought, he was. "You are my son," his father ventured.

"Yes," answered Pent. His hand was squeezed; it felt as if that same hand grasped his heart when he witnessed the smile lingering upon his father's face.

"I am pleased," said his father, and then he died.

-end-

The _Bouquet_ series was originally posted to my LJ as junk fic--short stories that I would write and post as they came to mind, with little in the way of proofreading. I was using them to boost my confidence in my writing, which worked to some extent. While the stories included more than Pent/Louise, the stories that I will posting on FFN will exclusively be Pent/Louise because, hey, why not? I have a two-part story to clean up first, so that will be posted in time. The overall series summary will change with each post.

The individual titles, and indeed the entire premise of this series, is influenced by Victorian flower language. The site I used is in my profile.

While I greatly appreciate any interest in _Legion of Honor_, I'm sorry to say that I can't tell you when the serial will be continued, or even when the next chapter will be up.

And yeah, romance-centered. I'm a little ashamed, but I'll get over it.


	2. The Budding Garden, part 1

Bouquet

(C) Intelligent Systems and Nintendo

The two-part story _The Budding Garden_ is dedicated to Houyoku, whose story _Lady of Violets_ not only introduced me to the complexities of the Pent/Louise pairing but is still what I consider to be _the_ story about them.  
-0-

The Budding Garden: Nutmeg Geranium, Ivy Geranium, Purple Columbine, Red Camellia Japonica, Calycanthus, Coreopsis Arkansa, Thornless Rose  
(_At the meeting called at the behest of Count Reglay,  
twenty women gathered so that they might be considered his bride.  
Each in turn presented themselves to him,  
one and all resolved to win his favor.  
However, when the last of them rose, both count and maiden were struck;  
he by her unpretending excellence,  
she by his unassuming benevolence.  
Would this be called 'love at first sight',  
or rather an early attachment that watered the seeds of love  
until they blossomed into a glorious garden unparalleled in the eyes of all who saw them?_)

"Milord, it is time to consider marriage prospects."

As soon as those words were uttered, the graceful loops that formed the words of Pent's correspondence went slightly askew before he could correct himself. Without a word, he lifted the quill, placed it upon its resting stand, folded his hands on top of the desk, took a deep breath, and then affixed his steward with a nobly confused look. "Pardon," he said, "I'm not sure I heard that correctly."

"Yes, of course, milord," the steward of Reglay Castle said in a tone that suggested he did not believe his young master. "Indeed, I shall speak plainer: You need to get married."

Pent, sixteen years old and Count Reglay for all of four months, considered this. "No, I think not," was his evaluation after several moments of thought.

"You needn't get married right this minute, milord," the steward said in a dry tone. "Though it would be nice. However, it is certainly true that you should enter into an engagement as quickly as possible. There are many families who would love to enter into a, say, beneficial relationship with House Reglay and we should accommodate them. And--"

"--An heir is needed," Pent finished, his tone as dark as thunderclouds rolling in from the distance. Wanting some distance from the looming conversation for even a few moments, he stood and walked over to the grand windows behind his desk; it was spring, and from his private study on the third floor he could see green fields and a few workers dotting here and there. To him it looked as if it were lacking something, but having lived here only sparingly he couldn't see what that was. "Well," he started, turning back to face the graying steward, "I have no argument. I will do my duty and uphold the honor of my house, as is expected of me."

Thankfully, his steward did not note the slight sarcasm behind Pent's words, merely nodding in acceptance. "Wonderful, milord. Certainly we will be able to secure a bride that pleases you. Now, what sort of lady would interest you?"

Having never thought about this in any great detail beforehand in his life, Pent struggled to come up with an image that was more than wisps of an ideal. "Hm...I would say that a kind, considerate woman with a gentle heart and an open mind would be nice."

"Milord." The steward looked rather perturbed. "Let us be reasonable. Women like that are sure to exist, that is true, but they are not of the caliber of women available to you."

"...I see."

"I am glad you do. Now, let me clarify my question: What sort of women does milord prefer? Blondes, brunettes? Redheads, greenheads, bluenettes?"

Pent said nothing for a long time. When he finally did open his mouth, it was only at the urging of the great deal of distaste he felt about the whole situation. "I feel as though I am being asked to choose a horse," he complained, indignant now about the whole exercise. As a statement of the steward's absolute professionalism and why he held such an esteemed duty in one of the great noble houses of Etruria, he did not look as though he was bothered by his lord's adolescent irritation and willingness to belittle tradition. Indeed, to Pent's annoyance, the steward didn't even appear to be losing any ground in their conversation.

"Of course, there is truth to milord's words. Perhaps we will schedule a showing of the finest ladies for your choosing?"

At these words, only years of etiquette training kept Pent from covering his face with his hands. "...What?" he said, not yet in shock but getting there.

The steward nodded. "Yes, milord. While I was not here at the time, I have been assured that your father held such an event in order that he might choose a suitable bride. What caught his eye was your mother's impeccable taste in the poetry she chose to recite. Milord should be familiar with it, the sonnets of Wilhelm of Basque? I was told she recited the thirty-third one, to everyone's delight."

"And I am to hold one of these...these poetry meetings?" Pent asked, wavering between indignation and deadpan amusement.

"It needn't be poetry. It is a showing of fine talents, such as singing, the playing of delicate instruments, proper dance, and yes, poetry recital. In this way, they exhibit which one is most deserving to be your lady wife."

"But what do these skills have to do with being a wife?"

"It shows that they are of fine breeding. Undoubtedly they will use these skills to entertain while you are away at court, and when you are home such display will refresh your soul. My predecessor told me as much regarding your mother."

Pent looked away, brow furrowed as he considered the steward's words. He was distinctly uncomfortable with everything having to do with this discussion, not to talk of a little sad at how inevitable it all seemed. A life spent in the depths of his research may have been a happy dream, but he had told himself before he became the new Count Reglay that it was not an unattainable one. Because he was willing to hold on to that small happiness, he had to make sure that he kept his noble house unblemished; therefore, he could not fight this. He would have to play this game, choose a wife, sire an heir--this was fate as it had been dictated to him.

But he was also a mage, a researcher of magic. He had learned long ago how even the tiniest detail could derail an entire magical formula, and life was nothing if not full of tiny details. That he was to choose a woman to be Countess Reglay on the merit of her skills at the harp, or how she spun and weaved along stone floors seemed altogether lacking. He felt resentful towards his ancestors as well as the whole of Etruria's highborn society for believing that this was the right way to choose someone to whom he would bind himself with holy vows for the rest of his life.

The rest of his life. He was sixteen.

Gradually, he released the breath he hadn't even been aware he'd been holding. He decided to be optimistic and think of how nice it would be if he could find someone agreeable to him. Some light conversation, a smile or two--those things would be his success. All he had was correspondence with his old professors at the academy with which he used to belong, issuing orders to his steward, and a meeting or two with other nobles. Too much of his time was spent trying to learn what it meant to be Count Reglay to allow him to have friends--not that he had so many friends to begin with.

"I understand. Please have a list ready by the end of the week for me to review." He glanced at his steward, whom he sensed always knew he was going to capitulate so easily, and found that he couldn't resent the man; he was just doing his job, protecting the interests of House Reglay. "Thank you for your guidance."

The steward bowed. "You needn't thank me, milord. I am pleased to do what little I can for the sake of your noble house." But despite the stiff words, Pent felt that he had the older man's approval.

He supposed that would have to do.

-0-

A week, perhaps, was not enough. Or it had been too much time--Pent was uncertain.

Before Pent was not only the steward, but two clerks who had been necessary in extensively researching the familial backgrounds of each of the ladies who were being considered for an invitation. Once the list had been fifty women great, all highborn ladies of Etruria; now, he had been told only nineteen remained. Pent still felt that such a number was far too numerous, but when he perused the list the family names jumped out at him and he saw the predicament therein. Daughters of dukes, counts, viscounts and even the odd baron or two were all listed--the _crème de la crème_ of Etrurian society, as it would be said in the old language.

And then he reached a twentieth name on the list, only a family name, which had been crossed out. "What is this? 'Émile'?" The three gave him strange looks, though one of the clerks, he noted, was starting to redden somewhat. "It is one of the very oldest names, if I recall correctly, when all things Etrurian was called Etruscan, but I have not heard this name connected to anyone in society."

The steward of the castle was shaking his head before Pent finished his quiet rumination. "Begging your forgiveness, milord, but you are correct. That name is nothing to proper society and should not have even been placed on the same page as so many esteemed ladies of the court." He glared at the clerk to his left, whose face was deepening in color--the shade of humiliation, Pent noted with some discontent. Obviously the clerk would have something different to say, if that discoloration meant anything.

"Were you the one who placed this name for consideration?" Pent asked, keeping his tone light. The clerk was in his early twenties, and the youngest of the three that faced Pent; perhaps it was because of his youth that Pent felt inclined to listen to him. He himself knew how frustrating it could be to have his ideas brushed aside because of his age, never mind that he had been published in scholarly notes since he was fourteen.

The clerk lowered his head, auburn hair not much of a difference in color from his red face. "Forgive me for my error, milord."

"But if you placed this name on the list, then you must not have felt it was an error at first," Pent suggested. "I would like to hear your reasoning for this."

"Yes, milord." The clerk lifted his head, though his eyes would not meet Pent's. "The father's name is of a minor noble status, although there are many who would say that the gentry are unworthy of such consideration, but the mother's name is..." He seemed to pause here, as if noticing for the first time all the attention that was focused on him. "House Reglay is Etruria's greatest house, that is true, but the mother is connected to a higher title than your own, milord."

Pent leaned in, interested. "The mother is a duchess?"

"She--she's the only child of Duke Mersey, the retired great general...milord."

While the other clerk looked surprised, the steward seemed to be ascending to a state of shock that Pent had only touched a week ago. "Lady C-Catherine, Princess Hellene's most favorite lady-in-waiting...the king's cousin by marriage..."

"Well," Pent said, his tone a touch dry, "certainly her daughter is noble enough, I would think."

"But milord, I must beg you to reconsider!" the steward burst out with, his distinctive cool and remarkable dry wit hastily discarded in some corner of the room. "Lady Catherine dared to disregard the duke's wishes and broke her betrothal promise, all to marry a man who could be considered as barely being better than baseborn. She is a pariah of the court! Only through her father's remarkable patience is she still considered nobility. If you were to have her daughter appear for your consideration, you would insult all of Etruria!"

Pent was not completely cold to this plea, whatever his birth affinity would have others think about his reserved personality. He understood his servant's appeal as the sum total of the steward's devotion to House Reglay. More than anything, the steward wanted to protect the house he served, and Pent understood that. He truly did.

That being said, he also had a vested interest in choosing a wife best for him, and so what his steward called a 'scandal' merely sounded to him like an intriguing story.

"I understand your concern," Pent started slowly, "but if there is an eligible daughter from such a union, she must be quite interesting. Also, I find that Saint Elimine had some words to say regarding situations such as these... 'Let all those who wish to come find shelter under my roof,' I believe. High society may be exclusive, but I find no need to be the same. Please send Lady Émile an invitation along with the rest." His voice was firm, brooking no argument.

"Yes, milord," the steward said, sounding defeated. "As you will."

-0-

Louise knew there was something out of sorts brewing inside the house when her own mother's personal maid, a generally sanguine and sweet-tempered woman called Lisette, was waiting for her as she finished her archery practice. As Louise had not expected anyone else out in the little range constructed for her when she was but a child, the sight of the lady's maid gave her quite a fright before she regained the presence of mind to approach the older woman. "Lisette, is something wrong?" she asked, one hand fearfully clutching her bow as the other wrinkled the bottom hem of her loose blouse.

Giving a short bow as greeting, Lisette seemed to wear an expression of concern when Louise was able to study the maid's face. "I wouldn't say something is wrong, exactly. Your lady mother wishes to speak with you."

"Oh," was a subdued Louise's first response. She was certain that any meeting to occur between herself and her mother would doubtlessly involve her studies in the finer arts; it was easier for her to hit an apple at a hundred paces than to play Moiraine's 'A Distant Dream' on the violin, the instrument in which she excelled--if one could call excelling the ability to simulate sounds that approached what the instrument was capable of producing. Although depression had overtaken her, Louise could not help but wonder why her mother had sent Lisette when either of the regular maids would have done. That action revealed something about the upcoming conversation that seemed rather more unusual than a normal lecture. "But surely I will need to clean up for dinner," she insisted.

Lisette nodded. "Yes, Celia is waiting. Your father has already arrived and dinner is to be served shortly."

"What? But it's not--" Cutting herself off, Louise glanced at the position of the sun. As it often was in the late spring days in Alloway County, the skies were sparsely dotted with cotton-like clouds as the sun serenely drifted towards the west. "We'd only just had afternoon tea, Mother and I..." She whirled around in a flurry of golden locks and unsuppressed confusion. "What exactly is going on?"

"It will out in time," Lisette told her, tucking some of her loose hair behind her ears. Louise calmed at the touch but slightly, mind still working away with worry as she was wont to do at times. "Come," the maid said in a firmer tone, "you must get ready." And so Louise allowed herself to be led into the house, stood by in a pretense of complacency as her own dear maid Celia dressed her in one of the simple dresses she liked to wear in the house, and then was led by Celia to the sunny dining room, where her mother and father were already seated. Her parents had been conversing in low tones, but at her arrival their words were immediately replaced with smiles stiffer than a strung bow. Since they were normally altogether too casual, Louise's fears were heightened substantially.

Something is wrong, she believed. Too wrong.

Remembering her former governess' words, Louise held in her fear and merely took her seat as she would any other day. They sat at one end of the long mahogany table, her father at its head, her mother to his right and herself to his left, each of them quiet as bowls of creamed vegetable soup were laid out in front of them. Louise loved this dish, as it took full advantage of the rich bounties the land had to offer, but the tension humming between her family made a casualty of her appetite. As she struggled to finish her meal, lest their cook Ellie be disappointed, her father cleared his throat. "How did your archery practice go today, Louise?"

"I-it went very well, Father," she replied. "It's very instructive to practice by myself. I...I find that I like the challenge."

He smiled at her, a normal smile that caused her to lower her defenses. "Good, good. Perhaps you should enter the _Festival d'Armements_ our good count is holding this autumn. I know you didn't feel ready enough last year, but Lionel has been praising your skills lately."

The thought of her dour archery instructor espousing any sort of praise regarding her skills nearly had Louise on the floor, belly full of laughter. "That can't be true!" she insisted.

"It certainly is!" he declared, one hand on his heart, the other towards the ceiling--a gesture used to reference God in common affairs. "Every time we talk his eyes light up and he describes how you've easily picked up this and that. All I want to see is my little daffodil of a daughter trounce all those arrogant hunters and knights--haha! Perhaps yet I'll see an archery general worth boasting about!"

"Father!" she exclaimed over his laughter. "As if the king is so desperate to choose me as even a squire!"

"Maybe so, but a count is interested in perhaps choosing you as his wife."

Louise stared across the table at her mother, shocked beyond compare at such words. "What?" she all but mouthed, uncomprehending. Her mother nodded once, such economy suited far more to a country nobleman's wife than to the mother of a very stunned child.

"Catherine, I thought we were going to introduce the topic to her slowly," her father said, his tone tinged with disapproval.

"This was a little too slow for me." Her mother glanced in her direction, eyes the color of lavender blooms affixed to her own, before a measure of shame flickered within them. "Though I suppose I could be kinder. Louise, are you feeling all right? Would you like some water?"

"I...I am fine, Mother," Louise said, lowering her eyes when it seemed that her mother would not do so first. "Truly. I am just...a little surprised."

"That would make two of us," she heard her father grumble. Waving the day's kitchen maid over from her post, next to the door which led to the kitchen proper, her father indicated that he wished for the meal to be taken away; except for after church, their evening repasts tended to be small affairs, owing to the fact that it would be disastrous for their situation if they had meat on a whim. Their region was known for delicious baked goods and cream-based dishes, not the waste that was the entitlement of the true nobility--or so she was often told by her father.

_Do counts eat meat whenever they like?_ she wondered.

"It really isn't all that surprising," her mother said, waving away their concerns with one well-manicured hand. "Do you know Reglay County? It's the province just north of the capital. The new Count Reglay has ascended to the title, and as he's the last of the family he needs to take a wife."

Louise felt a little light-headed. "But Mother, why would he choose me? I mean..."

"I do have my connections, Louise. And I don't mean to imply that you've been chosen just yet. It'd be too simple if that were so." Her mother was smiling at her in a decidedly odd way, which Louise took to mean that something bizarre was going to be said in the next few moments. "Rather, you've been picked to display a talent to the count, along with a number of other blue-blooded, well-heeled young ladies, and if he should be smitten by your performance you'll have won yourself a husband."

Though there were no words Louise could find to accurately describe her feelings on the matter, her father seemed to have a mind full of them as he turned to his wife with a scowl wrinkling whatever skin that wasn't hidden by his beard. "What is this supposed to be, some sort of bloody farce? Does the good count not get enough entertainment that he has to make do with my daughter?"

"Technically it won't be just Louise, dearest."

"Th-that's--!" Sputtering in righteous rage, her father was as angry as Louise had ever seen him--though he was relatively even-tempered, she had the feeling that between his disgust with the practices of the nobility, the idea that she would be involved in such antics, and her mother's seemingly complicit agreement with said antics, his growing anger would have fuel for quite some time. "Catherine, this is ridiculous!"

Her mother crossed her arms. "I never said it wasn't."

"Don't tell me that when you obviously agree--"

"Oh?" The look her mother was sending her father was as withering and desolate as she imagined an Ilian winter to be. "Strange, that. I certainly don't recall saying such a thing."

There was an odd look on her father's face before he crossed his own arms; now, Louise saw, her parents resembled greatly two squabbling children after they had been thoroughly lectured, both of them fully entrenched in the idea that pouting would work wonders for the overall situation. This, Louise believed, was the eventual route all arguments took, and therefore she had resolved some years earlier never to get into an argument. Better to smile than to pout, and not just for the sake of beauty.

"Fine," her father said after a moment to compose himself, "what do you think?"

Her mother seemed to be considering how best to word her thoughts. "I think it is an opportunity," she said after a moment. "It is nearing the time when marriage should be paramount in all our minds, and an invitation such as this may make it easier for us. However..." Her mother gave her a sympathetic smile. "This will impact your future most of all. What would you like to do?"

Glancing from her mother to her father, then back again, Louise could see how much her beloved parents cared for her as they waited for her answer. Although her father was concerned and, indeed, appeared deeply conflicted by the whole situation, the small smile on his bearded face gave her comfort that, no matter her decision and its outcome, he would stand by her and believe she had done the best she could. And, though her mother's face was mostly inscrutable, her bright eyes, of the very same color that Louise herself had inherited, were full of the kindness that her mother displayed to her and no other. Whatever she chose, Louise knew that her parents would never complain that she had made a poor decision.

However, Louise herself did not know what was the right path for her, and so she decided to defer the decision for a bit and instead asked, "What sort of man is Count Reglay?"

"Hm. I had the opportunity to meet him at his father's funeral several months ago. Father had asked me to be his representative, since his health is always poor in the winter." The last line was directed towards Louise's father, who nodded. Louise also remembered that time as well; her mother had left at the end of the month of light, Louise's birth month, amid the tail end of her birthday celebrations, and came back with yet another gift: a substantial amount of white silk to be made into a dress for Louise, though nothing had come of it since. "Well," her mother continued, "the lordling Pent--that is his name--prepared a eulogy, though but a brief one. Those are best when it comes to funerals, you understand. Hmm, he's rather...pretty, I suppose."

"Pretty," her father repeated with an arch of an eyebrow.

"Pretty," her mother repeated firmly. "He took after his mother in looks, though at least he doesn't seem to be anywhere nearly as fawn-like as Sylphine was. Light bluish hair down to here--" she held her hand at mid-level of her neck, "--and the loveliest gray eyes that reflect blue or purple with the light. He does seem to have a masculine cast to his face, but you know, he is only a young man, sixteen if I recall correctly. He seemed underfed, but I suppose that is the right of those in mourning. His father was his only family, and if I know anything about the elite families, I'll guess the lordling has lived like an orphan for years now."

"Isn't that preferable among that sort?" her father asked. "Other than yourself and your father and our good count of this region, I've never known the bonds of family to twine around nobility when it does them no good to let themselves be bound. And even your own father--"

"Yes, but I could never blame him for it. I was not an easy child, you know this." There were lines on her dear mother's brow, lines that signified some sort of inner frustration. "As I was saying, the lordling is pretty, true, but he was rather distant. I've heard things about his personality since then. Dear Nella sent me a letter last month detailing a dinner she and her husband had been invited to at Reglay Castle. Apparently he is kind enough, and no one can complain about his manners or ability, but he is quiet to the point of melancholy and has no real spark to him."

"He sounds lonely."

Louise hadn't realized she had spoken until the words were already out of her mouth. Her parents looked at each other before turning their full attention to her, as if they expected she had more to say. But she didn't, not really; her statement was merely the feeling pressing against her chest given sound and meaning--Count Reglay sounded lonely. Even if her mother had downplayed the relationship between himself and his father, Louise felt that he still must be affected by his loss. If she had lost one of her parents she knew she would be inconsolable, as they were a very close family; so, she believed, to lose a parent, no matter if they were but a distant figure on the periphery of one's vision, would weigh upon him. And, as he had no other family with which to confide, her vision of the count became clear as crystal.

She was often called sensitive by all who knew her, and after years of denial she realized it was true: she felt very sad for him, a man whom she only knew by hearsay.

That, perhaps, made her decision clear.

"May I please be excused?" she asked, her head lowered just so to avoid her parents' stares.

"If you like," her father said, a strange note to his tone. "But wouldn't you like some dessert, at least? I think Ellie was waiting for an opening before she sent out some berries and cream."

"Yes, of course," her mother added. "It would be a refreshing end to all this heavy conversation, I would think."

Louise stood, new resolve strumming through her slight form, the very same feeling she had with her bow in her hands and a target in front of her. "I thank you, but I need to practice the violin. Count Reglay requires skill in the fine arts, and I have yet to acquire it."

Her mother had a strange look on her face--and she dared not discover what sort of expression her father wore! "Well then," her mother said with a distinctly cool tone to her voice, "you have two weeks to prepare before the date of the meeting. Tomorrow I'll have Lisette help Celia measure you for a new dress." Patting her dark chestnut hair, held in place in an intricate twist and lifted to expose her nape, her mother gazed at Louise with a stare designed to give no comfort to those who beheld it. "Are you ready, Louise?"

"I am," Louise responded with all the firmness she could muster.

_I must be._

-end to part 1-


	3. The Budding Garden, part 2

Bouquet

(C) Intelligent Systems and Nintendo

The two-part story _The Budding Garden_ is dedicated to Houyoku, whose story _Lady of Violets_ not only introduced me to the complexities of the Pent/Louise pairing but is still what I consider to be _the_ story about them.  
-0-

The Budding Garden: Nutmeg Geranium, Ivy Geranium, Purple Columbine, Red Camellia Japonica, Calycanthus, Coreopsis Arkansa, Thornless Rose  
(_At the meeting called at the behest of Count Reglay,  
twenty women gathered so that they might be considered his bride.  
Each in turn presented themselves to him,  
one and all resolved to win his favor.  
However, when the last of them rose, both count and maiden were struck;  
he by her unpretending excellence,  
she by his unassuming benevolence.  
Would this be called 'love at first sight',  
or rather an early attachment that watered the seeds of love  
until they blossomed into a glorious garden unparalleled in the eyes of all who saw them?_)

There is a time in every maiden's life when she feels nothing but the greatest despair. She is not good enough, she lacks talent, beauty, charisma--she is hopeless, a woman with no future. Color is drained from her vision until all she can see are the monochromatic tones that are the nothingness that she is and will forever be. This was the sum total of how Louise felt every time she picked up her violin to practice. With her 'talent' at the violin, Louise knew that the only look she could expect from Count Reglay was one of disgust. She knew it, she believed it, she lived it, and consequently, her ability to play sunk to the point in which everything she played was a mournful dirge, off-tune.

The truth was this: Louise was not tone-deaf. If she had been, she would have considered it to be a minor blessing. But, as she could hear every error in her playing, every instance where she lacked both melody and the grace to recover it, she understood just as frequently as the rest of the household how poor she was at such a fine art.

"It really isn't that bad," her sweet maid Celia said in an attempt to console her, but Louise knew differently; while she was playing, Celia had a most strained expression on her face, and now that Louise had lowered her violin her maid appeared terribly relieved. Insistent upon being inconsolable in the face of false words, Louise settled upon her cherrywood chaise lounge and, chin thrust resolutely onto the palm of her braced arm, stared out of the window in blank longing. It was a beautiful day, the garden below her room glorious as it was bathed in sunlight, but Louise was blind to it all.

With a muted exhale, Celia rose from the matching chair, where she had been preoccupied with her young mistress' gloves, and approached Louise. "May I sit beside you, Lady Louise?" she asked in dulcet tones.

Louise glanced at her maid and dear friend. Though she had only rarely seen Celia out of the long black dress and white apron that was _de rigeur_ for Etrurian maids, she could see by the other girl's lovely facial features, strawberry-blond hair, and graceful way of moving that Celia would grow into a fine woman indeed. Louise was not envious when it came to appearance, as she was often told that she was already very pretty for her young age, but she did envy Celia's grace--perhaps if she herself possessed even an ounce of it, she could master a solo dance and impress Count Reglay that way, instead of relying upon her nonexistent musical talent.

Gesturing beside her, a slightly guilty Louise said, "Please do." Celia followed the command, as always, and seemed to search for something to say. In the meanwhile, Louise returned her attention to the window.

"It may be impertinent of me to ask, but why are you trying so hard to win Count Reglay's favor?" When Louise turned her head towards Celia, she saw the older girl staring down into her lap, twisting long, graceful fingers around each other. "Do you wish to leave Alloway that badly?"

"It isn't that," Louise reassured her, sitting up so that she could take one of Celia's hands in her own. "I love my home and everyone in it. Even though I have traveled to other parts of Etruria many times with Mother, I think that every other region lacks the pure beauty of our fields. But..."

"But?"

"I don't really know why, but I feel I must try to reach him...Count Reglay," admitted a pink-faced Louise. "When Mother was describing him, I was...I felt the deepest sympathy. I thought that if I were him, I would be quite lonely. Perhaps he does not even have a friend as nice and good as you, Celia. So, I resolved that I would meet him, but the only way I would be allowed to talk with him would be if I won the contest, and so..."

She felt her hand being squeezed, and Louise looked up to meet Celia's warm green eyes. "I think that is just like you, Lady Louise. Certainly, if you try hard enough, your true feelings will reach the count."

"Mm," Louise murmured, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with her friend's words. "But I wonder if it is all in the trying--"

"I've wondered that myself a time or two."

Both girls looked across the room at the bedroom door, where Louise's mother stood, impeccable even in indoor dress. "Mother, g-good morning," Louise greeted, wondering frantically how much her mother had heard.

With a nod of acknowledgment, her mother glanced at Celia. "Celia, Lisette would like to see your progress with the gloves. If you're nearly done, I believe she would like you to start on the stockings next." Without a word, Celia pulled her hand from Louise's and retrieved all the work she had carried into Louise's room, bowing to Louise with a smile and a wink before leaving the room.

"Would you like to sit down, Mother?" Louise invited after they were left alone. With a gracious smile, her mother walked to the chaise lounge with nary a rustle from her long skirts and sat down.

"I thought I would see what you were up to once I realized you weren't playing any longer," her mother explained. "The sound of it went well with my new book."

Louise smiled, though the reference to her playing made her feel somewhat forlorn. "A new book? What sort of book?"

Her mother laughed behind one well-manicured hand. "An absolutely chilling horror novel."

Appalled, Louise could only stare at her mother.

"Oh--oh, Louise, don't make that face, it was only a joke. Come here, silly girl." As her mother reached out to her, Louise had a mind to resist; once in her mother's embrace, however, she found that the heady scent of her mother's favorite perfume--a gift from the queen of Bern, whom she knew to be a relation of theirs--lulled her into accepting, then sinking against her mother's full bosom. The gentle touch of soft fingers as they swept through her hair only deepened the effect, a sort of nostalgic haze from a time when she was but a child, lacking in any responsibilities more difficult than cuddling up to her mother while practicing her reading. What happy days those were--where had they gone?

"Mother," she said, her eyes closed as her senses were overtaken by the familiarity, "I feel I cannot be considered as a point of pride for either you or Father."

"Silly girl," her mother repeated, no heat behind the rebuke. "We are already so proud of you. What matters most is that you find pride in yourself."

"But how will I do that?" Louise pleaded, eyes wide open now. She thought she would like to rise from her mother's arm and demand an answer from her dear mother, but her mother had a penchant for avoiding that which others demanded of her. Instead, she laid there, head against her mother's chest, like so much deadwood. "I cannot do anything as I am. I cannot compare to the ladies that will be there. I..."

There was no response from her mother, save the soothing touch of fingertips now massaging her scalp. Then, in a very soft voice, her mother said, "Do you know, my father was said to be quite disappointed that I was born a girl. After all, in his eyes, a girl-child could never be as sturdy and unflinching as well as even the most soft-hearted boy. And when my mother died in childbirth and took what would have been my brother with her, I think my father was convinced of it. That's why he expected me to be nothing greater than a woman, just a bartering chip, and why I rebelled against him so.

"I never wanted you to live that sort of life. I remembering worrying over your father's reaction when I was told I had borne a daughter, but..." Louise felt rather than heard her mother's laughter, bouncing within her mother as much as it was. "He has always been so enthusiastic over every little thing that you've picked up, and even though he's still pouting over your willingness to perform for the lordling, he fully supports you. He really does intend for you to compete at the _Festival d'Armements_ this autumn."

"Truly?" Louise murmured woefully.

"Truly," her mother repeated with a smile in her tone. "But please try to humor him. It's your skill in archery that he's most pleased by. And if you're to continue practicing cooking with Ellie, he'll love to try more of your creations. As will I, of course." Pushing a lock of hair behind Louise's ear, her mother sighed. "Celia is right, you realize."

"About what, Mother?"

"If you show the lordling your true heart, he will respond favorably."

"My true heart..." Louise finally recovered the presence of mind to lift herself away from her mother's soft embrace, disheartened as she was by the turn the conversation had turned. Looking away from her mother, Louise asked, "But what is that, exactly?"

Her mother clucked her tongue. "It certainly isn't in the violin, I'm afraid to say. Nor was it in the harp, or the piano before that. You simply aren't made for such things. Kindly do not give me that look, young lady."

Averting her glare, Louise gazed down at her lap. "I have no skill in ladylike endeavors, I realize this," she admitted, her tongue like lead and her heart sinking to new, unfathomable depths.

"Perhaps not, but you do have them in Louise-like endeavors."

"Mother," Louise started, newly horrified, "I cannot take my bow and present that as a womanly skill to Count Reglay! Why, to think of his reaction...it would be a scandal!"

Her mother rose from the chaise lounge, her dress shimmering like a forest on a windy day. "I know a thing or two about scandals, dear daughter," she said in an oddly grave tone, "and the thing about them is, they are inflated by the words of those who know not a thing of which they talk about. It might be a fine thing to follow the course that has been created for young ladies such as yourself, but whoever said that such a path was right has worn blinders since birth. Your father and I, we are sure, did not raise such a daughter."

"Mother..." Louise whispered, watching her mother's beautiful face darken with that same frustration she had espied a week ago, when the whole ordeal over Count Reglay's invitation began.

"The difference between what is said to be right and what actually is right can be nearly insurmountable at times, Louise. I pray that you will understand this in time." And, with such words hanging between them, her mother left her room. Louise sat, speechless for a time, letting the meaning of her mother's words sink into her. It reminded her so much of words her father had told her just a year earlier, and they mingled together until she could almost believe in them.

Worth beyond beauty. The different between what is said to be right and what is actually right.

Louise never picked up her violin again.

-0-

On the day before the potential brides were to show off their skills, Pent realized he couldn't recognize his home.

It happened suddenly, not as quick as the blink of an eye but in a fashion that seemed to defy explanation all the same, and by the day the potential brides converged on Castle Reglay--Pent refrained to think of it in the manner of locusts, but the feeling of it was there--his home had changed from a gray stone keep to a brightly-colored stone keep. This was mainly due the fact that banners in the customary blue that House Reglay claimed as its own were strewn everywhere, blaring the insignia and crest of his house from every nook and cranny. And then there was the fact that flowers seemed to be blooming from every flat surface that could be found in the castle; he didn't know what to say about it, but as the maids whose duty it was to place them in the most pleasing manner possible seemed happy to do their job, he supposed he could live with it. Far less happy were the cooks and scullery maids, and he supposed he couldn't blame them--twenty family names did not seem like much on paper, not compared to the original fifty, but to see what this entailed in real life was something else entirely.

They sort of _were_ like locusts, he observed. Brightly-colored ones.

Because these women were arriving from all over Etruria, they were allowed to spend the night in the castle in sympathy of the distance they had to cross. But, as Pent could see very clearly, this meant that everyone was inclined to arrive a day early just so that the ones who came from afar would not hold an advantage over the ladies who lived only a few hours away. Therefore, the castle was bustling in ways it had never bustled before, because with these twenty ladies came their mothers or designated guardians as well as their personal maids. Pent wasn't sure how to feel about this, but the head housemaid assured him that all that would have to be done was to open a previously-unused wing of the castle for the duration of their stay. "And the food's nothing to worry about, milord," she had added, her Western Isles accent full of mirth. "Once you see them, you'll understand. They enjoy eating, sure, but they've got to fit into their dresses too." He was led to believe that the ladies' maids would eat in the servant's hall, but that they'd be too overworked to eat much either. So it probably was unkind to think of the eighty new additions to his home as locusts.

Possibly.

After standing for an impossible amount of time greeting his guests and having each potential bride's qualities expounded to him time and time again by their mother or guardian, all the while aware that everyone's eyes were on him and him alone, he felt claustrophobic. No matter where he went, he saw ladies bunched together in small groups like clusters of shiny, colorful fruit, their eyes peering at him over lacquered fans as they giggled in falsetto. They were all lovely ladies, to be sure, but after seeing all these women in nearly as many nooks and crannies as the house banners he was tired of the sight.

He wanted to believe there was something wrong with him, who was not pleased about being the singular point of attention of such attractive and vivacious young ladies, but he couldn't ignore the artificiality of it all. They were all here because he needed a bride; he needed a bride to maintain his good family's name. The winner, as it were, would collect a prestigious title, and his duty as head of House Reglay would be fulfilled.

Where, exactly, did _he_ enter the equation?

That was why, after deciding he had enough of the trivialities of the day, he went to his room and changed into simple clothing, something he would wear at the academy when there was no class but he was still researching in the library all the same. As quickly as he could, he made for the castle library, where he was certain no ladies would lie in wait to ambush him. It was approaching sunset and, as the library was facing west, there was an appealing golden hue that filled the room. Smiling now, he selected a book and walked down the length of the room, hoping to hide himself at the very last table until it was time to make an appearance for dinner, where apparently no one but himself would be eating.

He stopped smiling when he saw a woman sitting at the very place he was intending to hide. The woman, dark-haired and with an eye color that he could not discern with the sunset glow bathing the room, looked up at him and he hoped she thought he was but one of the clerks of the castle. Unfortunately, he could see the recognition on her face--a small smile--as she closed her book. "Lord Pent, a pleasure to see you. You seemed occupied before, so my daughter and I elected to get settled instead."

"Oh," he uttered, unable to place who this woman was. Since she recognized his face, they must have met once before--but when? "I apologize for my rudeness, Lady...?"

"Well, there are so many women vying for your attention, my lord," the woman said, and he frowned when it seemed that she wouldn't even acknowledge his request for her name. "Certainly you are not intending to hide from them until dinnertime?" she asked, laughing behind her book when he stared wide-eyed at her. After a moment he laughed with her.

"If I was, I'll hope you'll keep my secret."

"Of course, but I would have to say that this is exactly what you deserve."

Pent looked away, smiling a little. "I do agree, but that's a little harsh."

"I know it's tradition," the woman said, speaking very familiarly to him now, something which piqued his interest even more, "but it really is rather silly, isn't it? How does one judge the entire worth of a woman by her ability to string together someone else's words?"

The smile was lost now as he nodded in full agreement, though he knew it would be folly to verbalize his feelings. "Your daughter is one of them, I take it? If you feel such, certainly you could have decided that she not attend this..." He wanted to call it 'nonsense', but instead he held his tongue.

"But she wanted to," said the woman in a tone that Pent could only call 'wistful.' "My husband is far from pleased and I am of a mixed opinion, but do you know what my daughter said once I'd described you to her? 'He sounds lonely,' she said. That was the only reason she needed to agree."

How could he describe this feeling? At once, he was both touched and very, very still, insofar that stillness could be a feeling. It was a monumental shift from his vague feelings of restlessness before, when he'd just wanted to get away from all the women who had come here to be Countess Reglay instead of the wife of Pent, a mage who just happened to be nobility. Now, to learn that there was at least one among them who could express such an observation about him, who had come here just to--to make him feel not lonely?

"Who is your daughter, if I may ask?" he requested, his words tinged with just enough emotion that the woman should know better than to avoid this question. After all, he thought, she would want her daughter to be married just as much as the rest of them, no matter her mixed feelings. And if he could just meet her daughter and find out if the words she had spoken were true, then what need was there for this whole affair?

The woman stood, her height unimpressive even for a woman. "I think not."

"Pardon?"

"To put it plainly, I won't tell you. For one, I don't find it fair to the others who have come here. But there is another, more pressing concern of mine."

"Which is?" he asked, slightly annoyed but curious. He could see her smile, a pale crescent to match the one outside.

"You are allowed to invite all these girls here so that you might judge them, and that is considered to be the good and proper thing to do in our fair homeland. I understand the necessity of tradition, and I respect it." Tilting her head just so, she seemed to be examining him from afar, as if he were a horse on sale. It made him uncomfortable, because it was not unlike the stares he had already received throughout the day. "However, why should you remain untested? To what lengths does your title vouch for your good character? Not every man with a title has been a gentleman, after all."

"So you wish to test me?" Pent realized aloud, pleasantly surprised. "I don't find that disagreeable. What would you ask of me?"

The lady shook her head. "One simple thing. Tomorrow, figure out which of the girls is my daughter. That is all."

"That's quite the request," he murmured. "There are twenty women here to perform tomorrow."

"Twenty or two hundred, I would make the same request." She bowed, though Pent felt it wasn't out of respect for him. "I take my leave, Lord Pent."

When she had passed him, he couldn't hold back his curiosity any longer. "I would ask you why," he said, turning to watch her back as she headed towards the door. She stopped, then inclined her head towards him.

"My daughter is dear to us. She is putting in all the effort she holds inside her just so she can meet you, simply because she feels you need a friend. If you can't recognize a woman who does that much for your sake, I daresay you don't deserve her."

"You--you truly love your daughter," he blurted out, immediately embarrassed to make such an inadequate remark.

"We all love our daughters, Lord Pent." The woman glanced at him, full-face, and he saw that her eyes were some strange pale color, enhanced by the arrival of twilight. "If we didn't, we wouldn't be here." She turned around and continued her walk to the exit, and he allowed her to do so without further complaint.

Once she had gone, he all but crumpled into the nearest chair. He hadn't realized it while he was talking with her, but that woman seemed to exude an immense amount of pressure--or perhaps it was the pressure he had put on himself, once he realized that he had wanted her daughter. He had thought it was a silly thing to judge a woman on some delicate talent, but now that he had nearly canceled the whole event because of a girl's one observation perhaps he wasn't one to talk of silliness.

That didn't mean that he didn't want to attempt to fulfill the request made of him, of course. Not in the least.

"Perhaps I am a little lonely," he spoke out loud, placing his forgotten book on the table. It was too dark to read now. "Who would agree to such a, a _farce_ if they weren't at least a little lonely?"

Thank God he was alone, he thought. He would have hated to hear his steward's opinion on the matter.

-0-

As her undergarments were placed on her and adjusted, as plum-colored stockings and long under-gloves were rolled over the appropriate limbs, as her golden locks were brushed out and braided before being coiled and pinned behind her head, Louise was but a puppet, her existence fully in the hands of her mother, Lisette, and Celia. She moved and was moved by them at their discretion, her eyes closed as she tried to breathe as shallowly as possible, lest she annoy whoever was making last-minute alterations on her bodice. Briefly, her mother and Lisette held a whispered argument on how appropriate it would be to powder the flesh exposed by her _décolletage_, which her mother had won by commenting that she wasn't the kind of woman who laced her corset at the front, whatever that meant. To Louise it did not matter, nothing much at all really did; to be pampered to senselessness only increased the feeling that she was nothing much at all save a doll. She floated, content.

There was a knock at the door, but it existed too far away for Louise to care about. Celia was sent to answer it, and she returned not too long afterward. "They've brought breakfast," Celia announced. "The maid had a cart and everything. It seems everyone else is fussing about as we are."

"But there's no time to eat," Louise heard Lisette murmur close to her chest, very obviously fretting. It was all Louise could do to comfort her mother's personal maid, knowing that the stress was due to her and her body's inexplicable growth since the last time she had been fitted for the dress. "The showing begins at nine, and it's already one hour to the time. I'm afraid I'll need much of that time to let out the seams around her hips."

Her mother laughed. "You may consider it a bother now, but can you imagine what my daughter will look like once she's fully grown? She'll have the most fantastic body in all of Etruria, thanks to her diet. And look at these toned arms!"

"Of course it's true that Lady Louise is a very lovely girl, but her propensity for growth is quite another thing entirely," Lisette commented in a quiet voice. A needle poked Louise just above the hip, but insensate as she was she barely flinched.

"Yes, but as she's the youngest of the potential brides it can only help her. More to the point, Celia, please feed her. When she doesn't eat, she gains a most unattractive pallor. She needs some color on her cheeks to really magnify her complexion."

"I can feed myself," Louise started, quite feebly. She began to sit up in her chair, but found herself pressed back down again by an unforgiving hand.

"Celia, feed her. Mnh, I thought I had brought a necklace, but perhaps a delicate circlet would do..."

Over an hour later, Louise was allowed to stand. She did so, her steps full of tentative grace in her new short-heeled shoes. As if she was expecting the worst, she glanced at the mirror and was struck by the image presented. Her face she could almost recognize, as it was not made up too extravagantly other than a bit of powder as a finish, but the burgeoning presence of cheekbones and the slight curve of brushstroke-like golden eyebrows, both having been hidden by hair normally left loose, were as new to her as the elegant style that bound her hair up and around her head like a golden crown. Her dress was mostly created from the white silk that was her mother's gift, save for some thin golden lines accentuating her neckline and the cut-away front-and-center below the seam of her bodice, a triangle that exposed an underskirt of lavender that fluttered past the hem of the white dress and just below the curves of calves covered with plum stockings. White gloves covered her hands up to her upper arms, fastened in place by thin golden armlets her mother had been happy to supply; the plum under-gloves peeked out just past the armlets. She was grateful that her back was covered even though that went against the fashion of the season, but the combination of inventive lacing and the lowest neckline Louise had ever worn impressed itself upon her modest bust favorably--the appearance of cleavage, no matter that she was not as developed as most of the older girls she had seen at last night's dinner, was embarrassing to the young girl.

"Is that really me?" she asked breathlessly, a side effect of the tighter lacing as much as her shock at the girl who stared back at her from the mirror. She could not turn away from the mirror even as she heard the familiar sound of her mother's laughter just before she appeared behind her in the mirror, and she did not dare to once her mother fastened a gold chain along her brow, a pearl seed set in the precious metal dangling at the center.

"Who else could it be?" her mother murmured, placing her hands on Louise's shoulders after she was finished with the circlet. "Take a good look, my dear. Who knows if you'll ever wear this again?"

Once Louise was done taking in the image of her as neither girl nor woman and yet somehow both, though she knew she had to hurry as she was already late for the beginning of the meeting she held out her hand. "Celia, my bow, please." Avoiding the nervous stares from both maids, she caressed the frame with fingers covered in white silk. Made of yew wood, Etruria's vaunted holy wood from which it was said Saint Elimine's legendary staff, the Holy Maiden, was created, it was her first bow--she had been made to carve it a few years ago, when her instructor had finally decided she would not do further insult to the art of archery, despite the fact that she had been in training since she was about six years of age. For her, there was no greater comfort than to hold a bow, to wear her quiver at her hip and to know that she could defend herself if need be.

When she held out her hand again, a string was placed in her hand and, with a meditative silence that everyone within the room besides herself saw as the epitome of her feminine grace, she began to string her bow.

_I will be fine_, she told herself. _As long as I have my bow, everything will turn out for the best._

-0-

Pent could not figure out who the mysterious daughter was, and nervousness jangled through his body even as he told himself that, with a little reasoning, he could figure out which of the ladies was her.

As the nineteenth lady sang an aria he recognized as being from a musical he had seen in Aquleia before his father's decline in health, he studied her for any telltale signs that she was the one he was looking for. Though her hair was dark, he felt hesitant in claiming that she was the one; after all, there were quite a few others who were brunettes. Who knew if the daughter resembled her mother? After all, he had never physically resembled his father.

If nothing else, he supposed he had actually been focusing his attention on each woman and their presentations. And as expected, they were flawless to a one. But none of them, not even one, seemed right. None of them seemed like a woman who had come here for his sake.

He smiled at this, though it was a grim one. How selfish his thoughts would sound to anyone else; with everything he had, how could he still ask for more?

Loneliness, he thought. How he wished he was back at the academy. Ruling a county was important work, true, but being at the forefront of all sorts of magical accomplishments was what he lived for. He certainly didn't have time to consider loneliness while buried in scrolls and tomes.

Dimly, he realized the aria had ended. All the other women and their chaperones applauded politely, and he nodded in acknowledgment of the lady's skill. His steward, who was standing to the right of his throne, lifted the parchment on which the prospective brides were named, and Pent noticed the slight frown on the older man's face as he read off the final name.

"Louise Katharina Émile...Lady Émile."

Pent couldn't help but hear the murmurs at that name. He vaguely recalled it as the not-quite-titled family, the interesting one with the gentry-born father and the mother who was the daughter of a duke. But not just any duke, the former great general. Come to think of it, was he even introduced to anyone who..._oh_.

The murmuring grew into discontent chatter until a hush befell the grand hall and the Émile child stepped out in front of the crowd. Perhaps 'child' was a bit rude, though it was obvious by her face and height that she was the youngest of all the ladies of the day. As they all were, she was rather pretty, enveloped within a color scheme of white, gold, plum and lavender, setting off her peaches-and-cream complexion, bright golden hair, and the most startling lavender eyes he had ever seen--a sunrise given life. Her eyes, along with her pale lips, seemed to magnify the emotions playing across her features--all at once, she seemed alert, nervous, and very determined. It was obvious to him that she didn't know how to perform like the ladies before her; she was there, all her feelings bared to him, and as someone who was still getting used to the political nuances of society it intrigued him immensely that she could willingly expose all her thoughts, her fears, her hopes.

Then she held out a bow almost as big as her small frame and suddenly he was beyond intrigued--he was downright impressed.

"I," she started, the gasps from the crowd behind her stifling her introduction. He watched her eyebrows furrow under a delicate tiara, a chain of gold with a pearl seed at the center of her brow, and even though her determination was all but flaring from her vivid eyes she had a smile quivering along her lips. "Count Reglay, my skill is with the bow," she announced to him, to everyone in the hall. He watched her with interest as her smile seemed to widen, yet her eyes were downcast in an endearing display of shyness. When she glanced at him again, he had the distinct feeling that he was the only person in the room as far as she was concerned.

Truth be told, it felt the same from where he was sitting.

"My sweet lord," she continued, a fine blush across her cheeks as she presented her bow to him, "if you should choose me, I will protect you to life's end."

...Well.

As he sat there, trying to come to terms with the young Lady Émile's words, he heard a rumble from behind her. This rumble turned into a roar, and before he knew it the grand hall of Reglay Castle was filled with the malicious, scornful laughter of people who must not have a single heart to share amongst themselves. He figured this because he could not imagine a single one offering to protect him with their life, yet they were all the more willing to laugh at the one person who could. That such behavior was allowed in highborn society was reprehensible; that they could reveal such brazen disrespect in his home made him feel as if anyone who thought otherwise from their small-minded ways deserved their mocking braying.

Well. How absolutely _charming_ a sight.

She was still standing there, her face red with humiliation and her teeth worrying lightly along her lower lip, apparently calling up reserves of strength unequaled in those older or taller than she--like, say, the rest of the people in the room. It reminded him of the clerk who had suffered his steward's rebuke but was ultimately supported by good reasoning and proper judgment. He had allowed the clerk his vindication then and he saw no need to deny the same to her, not when she had impressed herself upon him to such a degree. A sympathetic smile from him seemed to catch her attention and hers alone, but when he stood everyone took notice. He made his way down from the throne to where she stood, as small and diminutive as a mouse and with her bow still in her grasp, and he held out a hand to her. She looked at it, uncomprehending and with a little fear in her eyes, the sight of the latter adding to his growing disgust of his oh-so-_noble_ audience.

"I have never met a girl whose heart was so clear, Louise," he stated, deliberately forgetting to use any sort of title in conjunction with her name. She seemed to have noticed, for she lowered her bow and, releasing one hand's grasp of the weapon, slowly reached out towards his proffered hand. When he took it, he noticed that, though her hand was small to the point of daintiness, it seemed to fit his hand like nothing else.

He thought he would have it no other way.

When he smiled at her again, there was a light to her eyes--indeed, her entire face--as she shyly smiled back, and he knew he had chosen right.

-epilogue-

The guests were leaving, the maids and retainers to House Reglay shooing away even the most forthright of the many, many offended ladies and their mothers or guardians, when Pent caught a familiar face within the crowd. It was that woman from the night before, he realized, the brunette who had challenged him to find her daughter. For a second, he felt guilty at breaking his promise, until he noticed the sly smile on her face...and her bright lavender eyes, which had been obscured by the sunset when they had met.

_Oh_, he thought in relief, _how nice that it has all worked out for the best. Then..._

He looked down at the young woman by his side. Though they were no longer holding hands, they stood very close to each other, which he found to be rather nice. "Lady Louise," he said to get her attention. She gazed up at him with curious eyes.

"Mm...I didn't mind it before, when you just called me by my name," she corrected with a soft voice, a pinkness to her coloring that he thought endearing.

"Louise, then," he said with a smile. He hadn't felt this good-humored in months. "I must admit something. It is true that, for quite a while now, I _have_ felt a bit lonely on occasion."

Surprise fluttered upon her face, then a very tender look of sympathy replaced it. "I--I thought so," she admitted very quietly, "and I think it's very sad. But, um, well..." Glancing at him from under her eyelashes, Louise looked more innocent than what should be possible until she smiled. Then, it seemed to him as if she was a sunbeam of pure happiness. "I won't let you be lonely, Lord Pent. I'll do everything I can to make sure that doesn't happen."

He didn't know what to say, except for the most trite and silly thing of all. "Thank you," he said, feeling strangely formal and unsure how to respond to her on her level, where even the simplest statements meant the most essential things. Then she smiled even wider, and he knew that he would have the rest of his life to reach that far.

He couldn't wait.

-end-

Whew, the clean-up of this part was fun. I would've had this up sooner if it weren't for an exam and other projects. That, and adding the description of the dress, as that didn't exist in the LJ-version for good reason--as much as I like dresses, designing one is quite different! It doesn't help that comfortable travel and battle-wear seems to be mostly mini-skirts and stockings in Elibe. I finally just adapted FE6-Guinevere's outfit as a template, since that seems more proper, and played around with that until it felt Louise-like. Sorry if I overwrote it and, well, anything else.

This is the end of available parts from my LJ and I'm currently very busy, so I suggest anyone interested in this story put it up on story alert and hope for the best...sorry.


	4. Flowers in Disarray

Bouquet

(C) Intelligent Systems and Nintendo

-0-

Flowers in Disarray: Pride of China, Champignon, Foxglove, Yellow Balsam, Cabbage, American Linden, Bee Ophrys  
(_there is dissension here; between one suspicious of any insincerity and another impatient for profit, they wonder if matrimony is an error..._)

Gérald Émile was not happy.

He did not like being away from his home, and liked being away from Alloway even less. He did not like traveling long distances, much less traveling for days within that moving coffin that his wife called a carriage. He especially did not like the diminishing quality of food served by the inns along the way, nor the narrow beds and their straw-stuffed mattresses. And from what he had seen of the outskirts of Reglay, he was not impressed with either the colossal mismanagement of resources or the discomfort of the people. Was he really going to let his daughter marry the perpetuator of such callous arrangements?

He thought not.

What he especially hated at the moment was the finery his wife had snuck into his valise before they had left home and, just before going next door to help Louise, 'suggested'--hah, as if Catherine ever only suggested anything--that he wear it for their meeting today with Reglay's young count. He was certain he did not own anything that purple, and so he put it aside and wore his usual fare: a high-necked, long-sleeved dark gray shirt under an open-collar, russet-brown tunic with absolutely no trim, and khaki-colored pants tucked neatly into dark brown boots. It was the nondescript clothing of good, hard-working men who strove to make an honest living each and every day, and Saint Elimine save him, but he would be damned before he dressed up like a bloody eggplant for some lordling, even if that boy had the good sense to pick his daughter. Not that it meant the boy could just have her...

Gérald let go of the breath he hadn't been aware he was holding and casually tossed the offensive outfit back into his luggage before opening the only window in the small room. It was as sunny and dry a summer morning as any, and despite all the problems he had with their lodgings it had a fine view of the city that clung to Castle Reglay like a child to her mother; things were much nicer here than out in the country proper, and it was that knowledge that deeply disturbed him. Alloway was all wide plains and winding rivers, a paradise for anyone willing to work to cultivate the land, but Reglay had thick forests and tiny gardens in its neglected villages; moreover, it was missing the network of roads that would make living in those far-flung towns tolerable. It worried him, because it was his modest belief that a lord that could not ably watch over his people was not one who would care well for his family.

Blessed saint above, how that worried him.

The click of the door opening behind him did not stir him from his position, though the sharp intake of breath right after was so dramatic that he rolled his eyes in automatic response. "I don't know why I would think this," his wife's voice reached him, her annoyance like a rising song, "but I could have sworn that I had left a different outfit out for you, dearest."

"I don't recognize it, therefore it can't be mine," he said, forearms on the windowsill, glancing over his shoulder at his beautifully glowering wife. She narrowed her eyes.

"Oh, I didn't realize I had to introduce the two of you!" Bringing a hand up to her mouth in feigned shock, she continued, "Perhaps I should've arranged it over tea? Do you need just a casual acquaintance with it before you'll wear it, or should I send the two of you off to Aquleia for a weekend together?"

Sometimes in the course of their nearly sixteen-year marriage he didn't know whether he should thank Saint Elimine for bringing them together despite all odds, or to wonder what he had done to be cursed in such a way--the latter usually when Catherine stopped holding back her acerbic wit and started lashing at him with a tongue full of barbs. He wanted to laugh at the expression of indignation on her face, but then she would probably flay him alive and how could he let that happen mere days after he had just made the biggest business decision in his life? "Catherine," he said, his tone nearly benign, "it's just clothing. If that Lord Pent is so exacting on such a small thing, I hardly think he would do well with Louise."

"You _don't_ think," she returned, and he was surprised by the sudden vehemence in her voice. "For God's sake, Gérald, we are having the prenuptial negotiations in less than an hour. Don't you understand what that means? Their impression of all of us is going to reflect in how they see Louise and the value they believe she will bring to House Reglay, so the least you could do is to not embarrass her and dress according to your rank!"

"So I'm an embarrassment now, am I?" Gérald said with his arms crossed in front of his chest, a cold note entering his voice that he couldn't hide, did not want to hide. For all their squabbling from their courtship until now, she had never once insinuated that their difference in class was anything else but pure nonsense.

She turned her head away from him, her hands clenched at her sides. "...That isn't what I meant and you know it," she said quietly. "But whoever will negotiate on behalf of the count will judge accordingly and we must be realistic. We are not in the best position to bargain well. They will ask much from us and if we want this marriage we will have to accept it."

"Why do we want this marriage? You saw those villages yesterday, Catherine. Why would I willingly want my daughter, our only child, to bind herself forever with a man who is guilty of widespread negligence at the very least?" But it was useless to demand answers from her, he already knew. The set line of her jaw attested to that much.

"At the very least, you could say, if it weren't a fact that he has only been Count Reglay for six months. Give him time to grow into the position. He...I truly believe he is a good match for Louise." Hand on her chest, Catherine was giving him a look that he was unused to and growing more uncomfortable with by the moment: a soft, pleading expression, beseeching him to understand.

He didn't, he really couldn't. Not yet.

"Is this another one of your instincts?" he asked wearily (as well as a little warily). Catherine smiled a little at this, her hand dropping from her chest to grasp the other.

"If you had only seen it, you would know," she said. "It was better than a fairy tale. Louise was so steady, even when that entire crowd of useless bints began laughing at her, and the lordling kept giving her the most gentle looks while the guards were clearing out the whole crowd afterward. It's no mere instinct."

"It's not that I don't believe you..." he started, before exhaling heavily in growing frustration. Of course he believed his wife--what would a man be if he couldn't trust his own wife? And he only had to remember how Louise had looked when she had returned from Reglay to know that it was not just pride at winning such a foolish contest that had made her eyes light up that way. It bothered him that he could not see what made this young man more than acceptable to his daughter and his wife, and after seeing the condition of the outskirts of Reglay he did not believe he could ever see it. He possessed his own instincts when it came to the character of others, and if it were not this Count Reglay's fault for such deplorable conditions, then whose was it? The past Count Reglay? The steward of House Reglay?

How could he entrust his precious daughter to a family he did not trust?

Soft hands cupped the sides of his face and Gérald started in surprise; he couldn't believe that she could move so quickly and so softly with such a heavy-looking dress, but there she was right in front of him, looking up at him with those luminous lavender eyes. There was a softness to them now, a different one from the desperation of before, that reminded him of when they were much younger and the love they held for each other seemed so much greater than the pressure the world exerted on them to separate. To that woman with those eyes, he had promised to stand beside her even if the whole world hated them, and it had and it had been worth it.

Would the world Louise was to enter going to hate her? If so, would that boy look into the eyes she had inherited from her mother and promise to stand by her anyway, or was he going to fall to the pressure of the high society of Etruria...the very same society her mother had escaped from?

How could he watch his kindhearted daughter enter such a world, knowing what awaited her there?

He reached up and held the back of his wife's hands, lowering his head until their foreheads touched. "I worry," he said, the honesty too much for anything more than a whisper.

"I know," Catherine whispered back. "I do too. But we raised her well, didn't we? We have to trust in that."

"I know." And he did, of a sort. Intellectually.

Was it enough?

-0-

Borenze, steward of House Reglay and all its holdings, knew something that his lord did not and would never know, the good saint willing. As a servant of the greatest of all the families of Etruria, he was well aware of the discretion necessary in maintaining the good name of the house. A wrong word to the wrong person could spell doom for the family, which meant even worse for all those who faithfully served the family and depended on their lord for all the necessities of life. Discretion was necessity.

Even the lord of the house had to be on a need-to-know basis if all of them, lord and servants, were to survive.

As he followed behind the new lord of House Reglay, indeed the only living member of the Martel line, Borenze kept to his policy and made sure no unnecessary words fell from his lips. It was understood between them that he would handle the prenuptial agreement; all his lord was required to do was to lend the affair the degree of legitimacy necessary for the proceedings to go smoothly. Also, it would help the master of the Émile family to understand his place, even if his daughter had been inexplicably chosen to become a count's wife. All that mattered, as far as Borenze was concerned, was that House Reglay was able to survive for another generation.

Glancing at his lord, he felt a deep sense of unease, a feeling that was becoming unpleasantly familiar. Perhaps it was because the young lord had often been away for his schooling, unlike the other heirs of noble families who were tutored at home and learned their responsibilities while being surrounded by their servants. Because of it, he felt that there was a divide between his lord's idealism and how things were actually run. Of course his lord was very young, perhaps the youngest in history to take up the responsibilities of his rank, and so there had to be a few allowances made for the quicksilver desires of youth. He was well prepared to make sure his lord did not stray from his path overly much. Yet, he worried.

It must be the Émile girl, he thought. The Émile name.

It was a thought he discarded as soon as it appeared. The girl was only a girl, nothing more. The name meant nothing; it was not a name of blood-born nobility. Rather, it was the parents, one whose family tree captured even royalty within its branches, the other potentially one of the richest men in all of Etruria if the news of the deal down in Alloway was correct, that truly bothered him. There was dormant power backing the Émile family, power that could tilt the negotiation in their favor--even though the name was wrong, even though the girl was far from being appropriate for his lord to marry. At that bridal competition two weeks ago he would have never suspected that his lord's instincts would prove to be right, that such a girl with such a tainted family history was a better choice than even the daughters of true nobility. Now he had to admit that this was probably the case.

Despite his many lingering doubts, Borenze knew that he would do everything in his power to make sure that his lord and the Émile girl married. They would marry and have a suitable heir or two, and the Émile family would be bound by familial ties and the prenuptial agreement to support House Reglay to the best of their ability.

That was because the truth was this: Reglay was in deep trouble.

"Is something wrong?"

A wave of nervousness swept over Borenze, but he forced it away and gave his lord his best blank expression. "No, milord. And yourself?"

"Hm." To his confusion, his lord smiled slightly. "I've been looking forward to today. I must confess that I've wanted to see the whole family together. They must be quite interesting, considering the stories I've gleaned about them."

"And you wanted to see the young Miss Émile, I would assume."

A flicker of unreadable emotion crossed his lord's face before a sort of boyish awkwardness appeared--since he carried himself well normally, it always surprised Borenze to realize that his lord was not even seventeen yet. "I...well, yes, it would be a pleasure to meet with Louise again...though it's only the second time," his lord managed before taking a deep breath. "Let's hurry on, shall we? We shouldn't keep them waiting."

"Of course not," Borenze said with sufficient dryness, and hurry on they did, though he wished his lord would take into consideration his much greater age and what that meant for a body. It would be fine. The whims of a lord were not such a bad thing to permit every now and then. So long as House Reglay remained firm, it was acceptable.

That was what the late Count Reglay had asked of Borenze during those final days, and a good servant carries out all his master's requests.

-0-

Sometimes, Gérald thought, his wife was just as inscrutable as God Himself.

There was nothing about the lordling that he found to be very impressive, save for the fact that the boy hardly blinked when Gérald offered his hand for a handshake, which was a tradition of expressing equality among the working classes--he wouldn't have faulted a noble for not knowing what the gesture was. (However, if the lordling had glared at his hand like Catherine's father once had, that would absolutely be grounds for a lowered opinion in Gérald's mind.) There was a faint smile on the lordling's face and a faint blush on Louise's after the two greeted each other, but Gérald was not disposed in seeing the first flutterings of love between the two like his wife was; he ignored his wife's elbow nudging him in the side at the scene, espied some papers in the hands of the Reglay steward, and concentrated on the matters to come.

The steward, a man who seemed to linger in his lordling's shadow, caught his eye before turning towards his master. "Milord, shall we begin the negotiations?"

In the very second of hesitance between the boy's recognition of his servant's voice and the parting of his lips to agree, Gérald heard his wife insinuate herself as neatly as she returned her novels to their proper places. "Oh my, is it already that time? Lord Pent, you'll have to forgive me if I have a request to make." She smiled up at the lordling. "If it wouldn't be a problem, of course."

"Not in the least," the boy replied, and he looked so sincere in his interest in Catherine's words that Gérald was forced to think a little better of him. "What can I do for you, Lady Catherine?"

That the lordling was familiar enough with his wife to use her given name surprised Gérald; however, it didn't compare to Catherine's next words. "Then, why don't you show Louise and I some of the castle while my husband and your steward hold whatever discussion is necessary? It's a superb morning for such things, and I've heard such lovely things about the Reglay gardens. Wouldn't you like that, Louise?"

Catherine, Gérald did not automatically say in a warning tone; whatever her aims were, he didn't like her pushing their daughter into the forefront of it. His feeling was vindicated for a moment, as Louise blinked and began to wring her fingers in rising panic, but then she seemed to regain her mental balance and smiled sweetly at the lordling. "I-I would, if Lord Pent would allow it."

The boy smiled. "Yes, of course, that's perfectly fine. It's probably best to take a walk now, before the heat sets in." He turned to the Reglay steward, who to Gérald looked as though he was trying very hard not to betray his feelings--were it not for his slowly reddening face, he might even have succeeded. "Borenze, I believe I can entrust this matter to you?"

"Yes, of course. I will not fail you, my lord."

"Right. I don't expect there to be much to negotiate over other than the usual." The lordling looked directly at Gérald, who merely stared back. "If you have any concerns, _Monsieur_ Émile, my steward has the power to make corrections when necessary."

His accent was terrible, but Gérald preferred that title immensely to the one bestowed upon him by his friend, Count Alloway. He nodded in respect, and watched with some bemusement as the lordling joined Catherine and Louise. The awkwardness between the boy and Louise as the former seemed to remember with a jerk to offer his arm for the latter to take, only for Louise to either not notice or misinterpret the gesture until Catherine spoke up made Gérald, for the first time since the act, regret firing the governess who had been charged with Louise's education but only cowed his daughter into acting like every other noblewoman.

He hadn't wanted that. He wanted Louise to be confident and self-assured while still maintaining her gentle, cheerful nature, not become some haunted little thing more concerned with her weight and balls than her own spiritual and mental growth. Could she keep everything that made her his beloved daughter and still be a woman worthy of becoming the next Countess Reglay?

It angered and saddened him to think that the two concepts might be mutually exclusive.

He heard a small cough and refocused his attention upon the middle-aged shadow of the lordling; the steward's stern look in turn inspired within Gérald a tremble of irritation at the whole situation. "Well now," said the steward, "shall we begin?"

Gérald thought it was better not to say the truth and only nodded, following the steward inside the meeting room.

-0-

Borenze did not like this man, this _farmer_ from Alloway who came to greet his lord in clothes suited for the fields, this lowborn man who dared offered his hand to shake as if he could be counted as equal to Count Reglay. Worse still was his impertinent wife, who whisked away Borenze's lord as if she were here on a pleasure trip--could she not see there were serious matters at hand? And even worse than that was the fact that he knew his lord was being played the fool, the tactics of the two serving to ingratiate and then lead him off, separating him from the truly important matter.

But it would be all right. Count Reglay was yet a boy, one who had spent his formative years in schooling that had nothing to do with his true responsibilities--the result of his father's kindness. Borenze knew better; he could shield his lord from the consequences of such childish mistakes.

What truly mattered was House Reglay, and Borenze would protect it and all its interests from even the head of the house himself.

At first, the other man was, if not completely amenable to the contract Borenze had prepared, appreciative of the work that had gone into it. There were all the usual clauses of what the girl needed to demonstrate knowledge in before she would be acceptable as a wife, some rather more stringent due to the quality of the house she would be marrying into. It was his personal opinion that House Reglay should be entrusted with the girl's education in these matters, but his lord seemed hesitant because it would entail an earlier marriage in order for House Reglay to assume guardianship for her. Either way, the man who sat across the table from Borenze only frowned as he spoke of the possible options to make sure the young lady would be deemed adequate--whether 'Sir' Émile disliked what was said or did not even comprehend them would hardly matter in the end.

It was when the dowry was brought up that Émile made an objection, swearing in the old Etruscan language and punctuating his displeasure with a hearty, "_Non! Absolument pas!_"

Borenze frowned. "We only speak the common tongue here."

"Then, let me translate," Émile said, his tone dark with disdain. "No, absolutely not! How dare you presume to take me as a fool! Twenty-five thousand per year until either ten years has passed or a proper heir is born? You think your lord is worth that much? The Church tithes a much more reasonable amount in service of our Lord above, and you dare to charge more than His agents?"

The feeling of wanting to hold his head in his hands lingered as Borenze struggled for an answer that would not immediately offend that man; he'd heard that many of the people who claimed Etruscan heritage in the south and southwest of Etruria were of the Lighter Elimineans, a more strongly religious denomination than that of the main branch in central Etruria, but he hadn't known that this man--this family--would be a part of it. After all, that would mean that he had willingly broken one of the most well-known tenets by marrying a woman who had been formally engaged to another. Minor adultery, if such a crime could be considered minor--and the knight general's own betrothed, at that.

Borenze hated hypocrites.

"Perhaps you do not understand what marriage is to blood-born nobility." Borenze cleared his throat. "Princess Hellene commanded a one-hundred-thousand gold dowry when she married the king of Bern, which decreased to fifty-thousand once she bore an heir. One of her ladies-in-waiting, Duchess Valsey, had a fifty-thousand gold dowry when she married Mage General Adain. Another one, Lady Trent, held a sixty-thousand one until her engagement was dissolved," Borenze paused, staring straight at the other man. "But I believe you know all about that one."

Émile did not look contrite, even when faced with his sin. He only stared back, pride all but evident in his posture and the cast of his face. It angered Borenze to see this man believe that he was untouchable, even though by his own moral law he was a sinner.

This world was about being true to the duties one accepted in his life. That was what Borenze believed. To take up the duty of religion and decide to disregard its laws was no different from serving a noble house and breaking its rules for a single lord out of the generations before him. In both cases, the erosion of the rules meant the crumbling of the foundation.

Unforgivable. Absolutely unforgivable.

"Your daughter was chosen to marry into the greatest of Etruria's houses. It is a privilege and an honor that is bestowed to few. The money is a pittance in many ways."

"Twenty-five thousand is a pittance?" Émile said, disgust plain on his face. Borenze merely removed one of the papers in his files and pushed it across the table. Looking down, the other man's face darkened once he realized what it was: the legal contract filed by Count Alloway to the royal court in Aquleia, denoting that one Gérald Émile now owned roughly twenty-five percent of various subsidies and legalized farmland in Alloway County through a combination of inheritance, partnerships, and land purchases. While he was not the wealthiest man in the country, he very well could be one of them.

In other words, checkmate. Not just for this argument, but for Reglay itself.

Émile wet his lips, pursed them, his eyes hard and staring at some random point off to the side. Borenze smiled inwardly, twenty years younger in his victory.

"I won't marry her to Count Reglay."

The smile dropped. "What?" Borenze wheezed, suddenly an old man again. "What did you just say?"

"I won't." Émile looked him in the eye. "You don't give a damn about my daughter. All you want is the money. I refuse."

This man, this lowborn farmer...that he would do this was completely beyond anything Borenze could ever have expected. He could not think; all he could do was swallow with a dry throat and wonder what had just happened. "This...do you realize what you are saying? What you are doing?"

"Yes. I'm protecting my daughter from this," Émile said, waving one arm to indicate the room. "Louise won't want for a husband in Alloway. Even if we were poor she wouldn't, so why would we have to beg at the front door of House Reglay to do so now? For a noble name? Dignity enriches the blood of all those who follow Saint Elimine, so what does she need your Lord Pent for?"

Borenze gave him an appraising look. Despite the other man's words, he wasn't moving to leave. "You want something," he stated. "What is it?"

"Ten thousand for the dowry per year until an heir is born or until after the first ten years. My wife was a noblewoman, as you noted; she will educate Louise to your exacting standards. Speaking of which, I noticed the clause that stated that the degree of education necessary would entail my daughter's marriage in the autumn and full guardianship passes onto her husband." Émile glared at Borenze. "She won't be married a day before sixteen, and that is final. She isn't marrying a king but a count, and they can have a proper courtship like any other noble."

Closing his eyes, Borenze wondered if he was getting too old for this job. His lord would probably find Émile's demands to be reasonable, but House Reglay couldn't. He wasn't sure if it could go on without the dowry payments for another two years, not with the last Count Reglay's legacy forever hanging over their head.

A father's love was truly a tragic thing.

-end-

It's been almost a year since I last updated this...I knew it would be a while, but I didn't think it would be that long! I'm sorry, moreso because there will be another wait until mid-June at best before I can work on these stories again. And to top it all off, there's more plotty stuff than Pent/Louise fluff! I hope you won't mind--if I must write romance, then it should be one with a plot!

-On 'Sir' Émile: His title is 'esquire.' While it should be properly written after the name (ex. Gérald Émile, Esq.), here in Elibe it's more of an upgraded squire title given to people who aren't properly in the military and confers minor noble stature. In the real world, it's an English title used to denote high gentry as opposed to low gentry, who used 'gentleman' instead.

-On dowries: They did go that high, and some were on an annual basis. There's a chapter in the (somewhat) nonfiction book Sex with the Queen which talks about one such girl with an one-hundred-thousand dowry per year, which made it very difficult for her to leave when it was obvious to everyone that the marriage was never going to work.

-On using French: Sorry, but I like it. I'll keep it to a minimum, and most of it will be words that have already crossed into English.

Please remember that this series is not written on a schedule, so if you like it and want to read more you should put it on story alert and think of each short story as a nice surprise to your day. Thank you for reading!


	5. Petals in the Summer Breeze

Bouquet

(C) Intelligent Systems and Nintendo

-0-

Petals in the Summer Breeze: Fern  
(_fascination_)

In years past, Pent knew perfectly well what he would be doing while his classmates were out enjoying their summer break: sitting in the bowels of the academy's library, sifting through records and tomes as he plunged himself wholly into the heart of magical research. It was a home unlike any other to him, and oftentimes he would be visited by one professor or another, enough that he had never thought of himself as lonely. If the other students he was friendly with returned to the academy early, he would let himself be coaxed into enjoying a night out with them. The heat would linger in Aquleia even at night, stifling and humid, but not quite as unbearable as his classmates had liked to complain. Then again, despite his affinity, summer and winter were about the same to him as far as his tolerance was concerned. Being a mage of not-inconsiderable power helped in that regard.

Here in Alloway County the heat was such that the unfiltered magic of the spirits seemed to simmer in the air, tickling his senses with the constant sensation of vibrating power. Magic was not as concentrated here as it was in Aquleia, where the sheer amount of magic users who entered the city contributed in drawing curious spirits to the city; here, it was wild, dancing about wherever it pleased. So far, quite a few stray spirits had circled him, but as much as he wanted to indulge himself by communicating with them, doing so in the midst of the crowds that had come to these wide fields for the tournament could have some rather unpleasant consequences if the spirits ran wild. It was a shame, though--he liked spending time with the spirits, and not only for the sake of furthering his own understanding of magic. Magic was simply so essential to him that, back when he was still a student, his peers would joke that he had to have been a spirit given flesh to help them pass their exams.

He held back the chuckle that rose from the thought. He had been doing that a lot lately, enough to wonder why he was bothering to hold back at all. But, he supposed he had a reputation to maintain, even in front of the clerk his steward had forced him to take, or something like that--he hadn't been paying attention at the time. As of late his interest had been diverted towards researching his new paper, a dissertation examining the evolution of the magical language of anima and comparing it to that of the equivalent languages in use for light and elder magic. It was a bit of a sensitive subject, considering how prickly the Church's higher ranks became whenever light magic was studied in a secular fashion, but as it was his first real research project since he became Count Reglay there was a feeling of exuberance behind his studies that he wanted to enjoy, one that couldn't be found going over the correspondences with the nobility within Reglay County's borders.

"Milord?"

Pent kept his expression carefully blank as he turned to his clerk, whom he vaguely remembered as being helpful in the whole bridal selection rigmarole a couple months ago. "What is it?"

"You seemed unwell just now. Would you like to rest by the shade? I will wait here for Count Alloway, if you like."

"No, I'm fine. I was just thinking."

"Hm." The clerk, with the red blotches on his cheeks shades away from matching his hair, seemed discontent from more than just the heat as he frowned. "But really, for Count Alloway to have us wait in the middle of this crowd without any shade..."

Shrugging, Pent glanced around; while there were many Alloway nobles around them, there were also quite a few people of common birth mingling with the nobles. His observances on how no one seemed to mind this arrangement made him say, "Alloway is a very casual place, moreso for this festival of combat." He didn't add that he liked it, because his offhand comments seemed to earn him lectures about the 'right mind for a noble' from his steward, who was already agitated about the marriage negotiation compromise. Pent didn't understand why--what use was there in arguing about dowry payments and annual sums? His steward had pushed and pushed for him to get married, so why balk at something as minor as money?

"Ah, yes, this 'weaponry festival.'" Fanning himself with one hand, the clerk had a bit of an odd look on his face as he stared up at Pent, not helped by the blotches of heat on his pale face. "And how do you think Lady Louise will place?"

"...I'm sure she'll do well," Pent managed out after a moment of utter blankness. "She wouldn't have said what she had said that day if she hadn't any confidence in her skills."

The clerk gave him another odd look. "If you say so."

Of course, Pent didn't know if he should believe in his own words. He had never seen Louise the archer anymore than she had seen Pent the mage, and it had not been the promise of her archery skills that had charmed him. If she were a subpar archer, it wouldn't matter to him; it was enough that she could promise her life to protect his, and in any case he couldn't imagine living such a life where her protection was needed. When he had been formally invited by Lord Aramis, Count Alloway, to the festival, he hadn't even known that Louise was to even compete until her last letter had confirmed it. He did hope to be impressed by her skills, but other than her few sentences about extending her practice times in preparation for the festival they had never even spoken of archery.

Then again, he hadn't written much about magic. Their correspondence was a new, hesitant thing, and he had a looming feeling that he was probably very boring to talk to beyond the requisite preliminaries.

It made him wonder, far from the first time, what business he had getting married when he was far closer to books than to people.

"Ah, he comes," said the clerk, and when Pent looked over he saw Lord Aramis leading two very familiar people to them. When Lady Catherine noticed him, he felt oddly shy at her wide smile--even though her summer dress was far more proper than the norm, her loosely pinned-back hair and large lavender eyes gave her a youthful, lively appearance that was reminiscent of her daughter. A small woman, she was dwarfed by the figures of her husband, Lord Aramis, and the commander of Alloway's knights, whom Pent had noticed in his stay at Castle Alloway as a silent, austere man who rarely left the side of his lord.

"Lord Pent, it's a pleasure to see you today," she greeted as she approached, fluttering a delicate fan trimmed with white lace. "It's quite hot today, isn't it?"

"I don't mind it," he replied honestly, sparing a glance at his suffering clerk. "It's at least not humid."

She seemed displeased with his answer, an eyebrow arched as she turned to Lord Aramis. "Aramis, I cannot believe you just left him here to roast."

"He just said he was fine," Lord Aramis said, a look of annoyance aimed at the woman, and Pent noticed Lady Catherine sneak a glance at his own face.

"Oh, but he's so light-haired that I have to worry," she said loudly, and in a much lower voice she continued with, "And at any rate, Sylphine used to burn."

_My mother?_ Pent wondered, surprised to hear anyone utter his mother's name. After his mother had died, it seemed as though every scrap of information about her had vanished as well, save for her portrait. That there was someone else who knew her piqued his not-inconsiderable capacity for curiosity, though now wasn't the time to indulge it.

"Who?" Lady Catherine's husband asked. She pointed her fan in Pent's direction.

"His mother, an old acquaintance of mine in my Aquleia days."

Lord Aramis coughed. "Anyway, your husband should take his share of the blame, considering that the only reason we've moved up the tournament to this dreadful time was because someone on the harvest festival committee wanted to expand the number of feasts." He stared at Lady Catherine's husband. "Gérald."

The named man ignored Lord Aramis, his eyes narrowing when he glanced at Pent. "We've better spots in the front, and the archery competition is first. Shall we go?" Without another word, he strode back in the direction they had come from, followed by Lord Aramis and the Alloway knight commander. Lady Catherine walked alongside Pent, listlessly waving her fan in front of her face.

"You'll have to forgive him," she said as they worked their way through the crowd. "My husband is the easily irritable sort, and he's probably even more nervous about the competition than Louise herself."

"How is she doing?" Pent asked, feeling obliged to do so. Looking down at Lady Catherine's profile, he detected a hint of a smirk.

"Very fine, I should say. It's her first real competition, and she's been very diligent in her practice. I even believe that she'll place."

"In her first year?"

Lady Catherine laughed. "I'm a proud mother, what can I say? She's not a genius of archery, but she's combined talent with hard work."

"Milady," his clerk said from his other side, the man having been so quiet that Pent had forgotten he was there, "do many ladies of Alloway practice martial arts?"

"No, only the marital ones," she said, smiling. "But I must admit they have their similarities. Ah, here we are, the perfect spot to watch the arrows fly."

The place Lady Catherine indicated was a grassy knoll behind the wide roped-off area being used for the archery competition. There were other people besides their group there, but none of the archers had arrived so far; Pent could see the targets standing in the middle of the range, which was a distance he assumed would be adjusted during the course of the competition. If he had brought a fire tome, he imagined he could have hit the red circle in the center with very little effort, even from behind the fence--there had been labs in his old academy specifically for judging accuracy, labs in which he had performed fairly well even though he had little interest in the practical application of magic.

"Pent," Lord Aramis started after Pent reached the knoll, "do you know anything of archery contests?"

"No, not at all."

Lord Aramis smiled in a condescending manner as he stroked the thin lines of his goatee, exuding an attitude Pent was used to but had never grown comfortable with. It was best to let the older man speak without incident because too many things were at stake, but it was just another mark Pent noted against his noble duties, which had collected a fair few already in the half-year of his being Count Reglay. "It's really very simple. We've set it up so that there are as many rounds as there are still competitors, though normally it only goes up to six. Anyone with a bow can compete. For the first round, the targets are placed at twenty feet. The second, thirty. The third, fifty, and the fourth, eighty. Then we have the fifth round, where we've developed a very interesting moving target. It moves forward, but the archers can't dally for there are five targets to hit altogether. It's usually after that when we're able to start ranking, and the sixth round onwards are based on trick shooting. Did you understand all that?"

Pent nodded. "It sounds very interesting. I would like to see it in action."

"As would I, but they'll be along shortly." Lord Aramis looked to Louise's father, who was standing next to him. "So, my dear friend, what do you think of sweet Louise's chances?"

Louise's father smiled. "My daughter's worked very hard. I have full confidence that she'll rank in the top three."

"Well, as you say. She wouldn't be the first woman to do so in our tournament's history, but it has been a while since the last one."

Lady Catherine waved with her fan for Pent to bend his head down to her, which he did. "He's referring to my husband's sister. She married a Lycian hunter and has been traveling with him, but one year they came here and she earned the second rank."

For want of something to say, Pent asked, "Who received first?"

"A man by the name of Lionel. He's Louise's archer instructor, actually, and he'll be competing this year. He's the favorite to win first, as he has been every other year."

"Louise is competing against her own teacher?"

"Of course she is," said Lady Catherine's husband, who was standing on the other side of his wife. "Why wouldn't she?"

Pent did not know, as he was only repeating the information given to him. But judging by the slight tinge of hostility in the other man's voice, he thought it best to incline his head in that international gesture of agreement and leave well enough alone. It was a relief to him when scattered cheers began on their left, just before he turned his head and watched the competing archers enter the range. Out of them, it was harder to find Louise than he expected until the other archers broke away from her to stand in their places. Then, as she followed behind an older man apparently determined to head to the other end of the line, Pent wondered how he could ever miss her. She was dressed in an overlarge peach tunic and dark purple leggings tucked into the shin-length deerskin boots that were an adventurer's staple, a large glove of the same material covering her right hand. Her blond hair was tied in a loose bun on top of her head and her quiver slung along her hips, her bow in her left hand. Among the dark-clothed men who towered above her, she was dawn seen through a forest.

Owing to the distance between them and the archers penned inside the range, it seemed to him no one in their group thought it appropriate to call out to her as she walked past them, still following the older man in front of her. When that man stopped further down the line, so did she, looking at the ground before backing up and looking at the target. Pent watched as the man called her name, then gestured behind her. It was when she turned, her eyes on the section of the crowd behind her, that her father and Lord Aramis came to life, calling to her in the strange words of the old Etruscan language until she looked at them with wide eyes and a wider smile. She waved when her father waved, then again when her mother did the same, and then her eyes met Pent's own and he felt frozen by his own sudden nervousness--acutely aware that he was standing with her family and their engagement still too young to pretend at intimacy. He tried to smile at her, his lips feeling as though they belonged to someone else's face; she ducked her head, wisps of hair fluttering about her face at the sudden movement, before she waved at him and turned around.

They weren't that close. They had only met twice in their entire lives and wrote four letters between them. So then, why did he feel so unsettled?

From where he stood, he could see her profile as she closed her eyes, her legs apart and the hand holding her bow outstretched. He couldn't help but wonder if it was the same bow she had displayed to him on that day, his heart beating strangely fast to think of it though he couldn't imagine why. She seemed as if she were anticipating something, and when a trumpet blared one bright, brassy note into the summer sky he watched her profile as her eyes opened and her body as she tensed, her empty hand reaching for an arrow in her quiver--no.

He watched her transform.

That was the only way he could describe it. He could catalogue her every movement but it wouldn't be an accurate record of what he was seeing as he watched her. It was as if there were two girls, two distinct souls inhabiting the body of the young woman named Louise, one hesitating and cheerful, the other bold and earnest. Perhaps one day soon they would completely merge into a whole woman, which made him question himself. Was he changing as he moved from student to count? Would he like who he was becoming?

The way he clung to being a student, writing papers no one asked of him anymore, made him think not.

It made him a little resentful towards Louise that simply watching her could make him question himself, even though he had already been doing so without the urging of her presence, but it also fascinated him to be so affected. He learned, he had mentors and advisors and assistants, but there was always a large part of him holding back from everyone. It had nothing to do with other people but...he had always been that way, as far as he knew. He always stood apart.

Pent heard the trumpet blare once again, but it sounded distant as he kept his eyes on her. Louise's stance, straight-backed and unforgiving, made him wonder what was going through her mind as she nocked an arrow, then let it fly. He couldn't even be bothered to watch where the arrow landed; all he knew was that every time she shot off an arrow she still remained afterward, the cast of her profile evocative of a woman many years older than herself, a woman who was not simply satisfied with the act of firing an arrow and having it land where she aimed it. That single-minded determination reminded him of the very best of his professors submerging themselves into research just to understand the smallest link in anima magic. More than that, it reminded him of himself.

_Could we be similar?_ he asked himself, unable to look away from her. _Is it possible?_

Then, she flinched.

Belatedly, Pent realized that it was already the fifth round, and beyond Louise was a wagon moving towards her, five targets extended with planks of wood. Many other contestants had already been disqualified, and she was left with four other archers. She had already hit three of the targets on her wagon, but it was coming unnervingly close to her and the arm that held her bow was wavering. He watched her nock another arrow, a tightness to her face that wasn't the determination of earlier but rather something like frustration. The arrow flew towards one of the lower targets, but skipped off the side and dove into the ground. Before she could pull another arrow, the trumpet blared and the wagons stopped. Two names were called, those who would stay for the next round--none of them hers. With her head bowed, she left the range.

"That's not so bad," Pent heard her father muse. "She's reached fifth to third rank."

"Probably fourth, since she at least hit three of the targets. Too bad, though, since she was doing so well until she faltered," Lord Aramis responded. Slowly, Pent frowned.

"Fourth place isn't bad for a woman at all," his clerk muttered beside him, and Pent honestly did not know what to think of that. He didn't have long to wonder; after the sixth round the ranked winners were called, and as projected by Lord Aramis Louise ranked fourth. It was Pent's personal belief that ranking at all in her first year was extraordinary, but the mood within the group was strangely muted until Louise appeared. Lady Catherine moved past Pent to go to her daughter, and he felt a little calmer--surely she would be happy at her daughter's victory?

Lady Catherine stopped before her daughter, her arms crossed in front of her. "Oh Louise, didn't I ever tell you that noblewomen don't flinch?"

Louise's eyes widened, but instead of every rational response Pent could've expected from her she instead smiled. "Yes. I'm sorry, Mother."

"You don't need to apologize to me. You did well enough this year." After a quick hug between mother and daughter, Louise was released and she stepped up to Pent, an odd expression on her face that he couldn't decipher--surely she didn't think he would have anything but good things to say, did she? But before he could say anything, he noticed her father and Lord Aramis approaching and discreetly moved out of the way for them.

Louise's father spoke first. "Louise, what happened? That wasn't like you."

"I know, Father," Louise said in a matter-of-fact tone. Pent's confusion only deepened; why would her parents make such comments when she had done as well as she had? "I may have practiced overmuch and it wore me down. Master Lionel said the same thing just now, so I'm not allowed to practice with him for the next two weeks."

"Ah, but you still did well."

Louise smiled. "Thank you."

"It wasn't a bad job at all," said Lord Aramis. "If you weren't leaving us in a couple years, I would have a mind to ask you to stay on as part of my guard."

Inexplicably, Pent felt his face grow warm as Louise giggled--it was such a strange thing to hear other people reference the engagement, even obliquely, although he figured he should get used to it. "Thank you, Uncle."

"Well, well, now that you're done, why don't you and Lord Pent go take a look around?" Lady Catherine suggested, a little smile on her face when Pent glanced at her. "Think of it as a gift for a job done well enough, hm?"

Now he wasn't the only one feeling out of his depth, as he noticed Louise's face turn pink. "Um...if it's all right with you, my lord," Louise murmured as she looked up at him. Pent tried to smile, and even though he was a little embarrassed it felt as if it turned out a bit better this time.

"Certainly it is." He extended his arm to her--he was never going to forget that again, not after Lady Catherine's light jibes about it in the Reglay gardens during their last meeting--and he felt a little better when she placed her hand lightly on his arm. Maybe they would get used to this yet. As they walked off, he heard Louise's father mutter in a low voice, and her mother responding sharply, but after that they moved through a crowd of people and suddenly it was as if they were in a separate world.

And he had no idea as to what he could, or should say.

"Lord Pent," Louise said after a long moment of awkward silence hovered between them as they walked towards less populated grounds of the tournament. "I'm sorry. It must have been disappointing to watch me."

He looked at her, surprised. "No, I don't think that at all. I was impressed."

"Were you really?" she asked, stopping as she looked up at him. Her eyes were large and her expression tinged with doubt, obviously because her own parents had planted the seeds of it in their initial remarks.

_I think I would know my own feelings._ Pursing his lips, he wondered what he had to say to make her believe his words, but he paused when he felt a slight pressure on his arm. "What is it?" he asked, concerned not only for her but for the way his own heart seemed to skip at the more noticeable touch.

"I'm disappointed in myself," she told him, a self-conscious blush spreading across her cheeks as her eyes darted to the side. "I really hoped to show you that there was...that you could believe in my vow."

"That you were going to protect me 'until life's end'?" he recited, as much amused as he was bemused. "I don't intend on living a life fraught with dangers. And, well, I _am_ a mage."

Louise tilted her head, loose strands of her golden hair falling from her bun and into her face, but she made no move to brush them away and he certainly wasn't going to do it when they were nowhere near that close for what he thought was fairly intimate touching. "I've heard," she said with a smile, "but I had to display something and I'm afraid I'm...not very good at playing an instrument or graceful dancing."

He smiled at this, more out of the absurdity of the whole bride gathering than anything she had said. "It's fine. I can't sing or dance either. Shouldn't we leave that for the bards and dancers anyway?"

She laughed. She had a pleasant laugh, though it didn't remind him of anything in particular. "Then, other than magic, what can you do?"

"I can sign papers really well," he said with a proud huff. "Though my steward tells me that I still need work on sounding as insincerely sincere as possible in my letters to the county nobility."

As Louise was immensely easy to read, he was a little disappointed that his joke--half-joke, really--only made her look concerned. "Do you dislike your work, Lord Pent?"

"I...am still unused to it." He shrugged. "Writing a thesis is one thing, but the sheer amount of paperwork I end up with is ridiculous."

"Do you do anything else besides..." she paused, frowning cutely, "sign papers?"

Pent nodded, his mood uplifted. "Actually, I'm currently researching a paper to publish in one of the magic-study journals. It's fairly complex, but I find those are the best research projects. I work in my free time of course, but it's quite invigorating."

"My," she said, her face lit up in a look of wonder so vivid that his ego couldn't help but swell in response. "My mother told me that you studied at a magic academy in Aquleia."

"Yes, I did, but I graduated ahead of my year. By the time my father passed away, I was already working in the capacity of a graduate student," he said very modestly.

Louise's eyes, already so wide, seemed comically large now. "Lord Pent, you must be a genius!"

Pent shrugged again, feeling a little less modest but somewhat more weary. He was not unfamiliar with such claims, from both his peers as well as his mentors, and it could be exhausting to behold. "Life is all about learning. I intend to do all I can to extend my knowledge."

"How amazing. I've always been tutored at home, and really only by my own mother." She looked away, a fond expression making the corners of her eyes crinkle just so. "Well, my father has taught me quite a lot about his business affairs, but I'm afraid I don't compare to you."

I should be the one saying that, he almost said, but decided not to--he didn't want to come off as insincere or smarmy, even though he would be saying it in complete honesty. Instead he shook his head. "You shouldn't compare at all. 'Genius' is the word people use to excuse themselves from higher work, or to make a claim that the work is just too easy for another. I personally find it promotes laziness in both the so-called genius as well as his peers. While I do have some talent, that doesn't mean that I haven't worked hard to reach the point I have, and so I think if you work hard at what you're given you'll find a measure of success."

She stared at him for a long moment in silence, so long that he realized the folly of his words--who did he think he was to lecture so freely?--and was about to apologize for them when she suddenly smiled. "I think I understand. Thank you, Lord Pent." She giggled. "Listening to you, I see the difference in our ages."

"I, I'm only sixteen," he protested, and when she laughed he realized that she had made a joke. Feeling slightly off-balance now, he struggled to return to more solid footing. "Ah, anyway we were talking about schooling, weren't we? Going to an academy to study is quite nice, though I'm sure being tutored has its merits. But I enjoyed my time as a student." He paused when a great idea came upon him. "Louise, would you like me to show you my old academy?"

She stared at him, no particular expression on her lovely features. "Truly?"

"Yes. I have to go over there once I finish my first draft of my paper to have it looked over, anyway. Visitors are allowed on a limited basis, but if I'm with you I'm sure I can give you a full tour of the facilities." Smiling, he said, "I trust you've been to Aquleia before?"

Louise nodded. "With my mother. We usually stay at my grandfather's townhouse in the city." She paused, hope alight on her face. "If it isn't a bother to you, I'd love to see your old academy."

Pent nodded, struggling with the grin that threatened to spread on his face. "I'd really like that. Magic is very important to me."

"Oh...I'm glad to share that with you, then," she said, her cheeks coloring as she smiled widely.

They stood together for what felt like hours, though intellectually he knew that they had returned to their group after mere moments. He couldn't imagine how Louise felt, but Pent had to admit that he was very pleased. He never would've imagined that any woman from that bridal competition would've ever cared for his deep fascination with magic, never mind taking an interest in it.

But then, he was growing fascinated with Louise too, so perhaps it was no wonder after all.

-end-

This story and the next were originally supposed to be formatted together like the very first story in this series, but once they became too long I decided to split them up instead. This bond is shown in the flower used; the asparagus fern, which has the same meaning, feels like it would fit Pent more, but I wanted some semblance of connection. So now you know the next story uses a rose as well, but which one? (Uh, certainly not the red one, not quite yet.) Thank you for reading!

ETA 6/21: Found a better Victorian flower language site with sources from the Victorian era, so I'll be changing this and the next story's flowers accordingly. So, please disregard the rose discussion above.


	6. Autumn Leaves Against Overcast Skies

Bouquet

(C) Intelligent Systems and Nintendo

-0-

Autumn Leaves Against Overcast Skies: Rose Acacia  
(_friendship_)

When she had left for Aquleia, Louise had been much bemused when her father pulled her aside and stuck an icon of the blessed Saint Elimine in her gray suede cap lined with white rabbit's fur, telling her to think of Saint Elimine and all of her virtues while she was out in the capital city. Having traveled there many times before with her mother without similar warnings in effect, Louise had related to her mother what her father had said in an effort to understand what was so different about this time that would worry her dear father so.

"Oh, that man," her mother had scoffed, heavy skirts crinkling as she crossed her legs in the cramped carriage. "Never you mind him, Louise. Your father is only playing to the stereotype. Surely Lord Pent is no one to worry about?"

Certainly not, Louise had answered. It was a truth, but not the complete truth. The additional truth was this: Louise did worry. After all, Lord Pent was a genius and she was increasingly out of her depth. Surely he would, if he did not already, find her quite boring to be around? Compared to him, her own education was lacking at best, and despite her mother's love for the relatively new literary form of the novel, she far preferred going out-of-doors to practice archery or learn new farming methods than to recite Etrurian history or even work on sums, her best subject. The only book she had ever read more than once was the compilation of fables and parables handed down by Saint Elimine herself, colloquially known as the Journey of Saint Elimine. Lord Pent, however, seemed to be enormously well-read and, the most important thing, he had attended an academy!

It was not the only weight her mind had to bear, not when she was suffering the ill effects of other things she dared not dwell upon, but all the same she was left unsure of how to proceed. When she had decided that she would stand before Lord Pent as a potential bride, she had never once considered how complex, how confusing everything would become in just five months.

Ah, what a world!

This unusual flurry of nervous excitement, for good or for ill, continued to be her most faithful ally once they reached Aquleia and settled into the brick townhouse her grandfather, it was said, used to live in all but full-time when he had still been the Great General of Etruria. She had seen the painting of him, a behemoth in black steel trimmed with gold, his favored lance in one mighty hand, and had wondered how her mother, and by extension herself, could be related to such a man when they themselves were delicate ladies of unimpressive stature. But then again, her mother possessed a singular nature, perhaps exacerbated by being born in the first thunder month of April, that knew not common decency or the gentleness of their gender. Louise could only be grateful to that part of her mother, for it was due to that ability to push aside the restrictions of nobility and indeed give it all up that Louise was allowed to be brought into the world.

But pride for her mother could not quell the anxiety twisting inside her, leaving her to pick through the evening meal, then to lie awake in an unfamiliar bed. By the time it was morning and Celia came to help her dress for her day with Lord Pent, Louise was listless to the point that even her golden hair seemed wan and faded as she watched, through the vanity mirror, Celia's nimble fingers plait and pin the braids up. Louise immediately reached for her gray cap, the icon of Saint Elimine still tucked into the fur-trimmed brim so that the top half of the charm could still be seen and recognized, and placed it on her head. "I'll need my cloak as well," she said as if it were a mere afterthought. A glance at the vanity mirror revealed Celia's doubtful face.

"I'm not sure it's going to be that cold today, overcast skies aside. It's only October. And..." Embarrassment crossed Celia's heart-shaped face as she smoothed out her casual dress--Louise's mother always allowed both Celia and Lisette to dress normally while on excursions to Aquleia. "You're developing such a lovely figure. Maybe it's a little forward of me to say, but wouldn't you like Lord Pent to see you as a woman?"

"...I'd really like my cloak. It, it may be cold inside the academy." Louise fell silent afterwards, and the face that stared at her through the mirror would almost be unrecognizable if it were not for the fact that she could feel those selfsame emotions twisting, coiling, churning inside her. It was only after Celia finished the last purpleheart wood button of the cloak, which was the matching companion of the gray suede cap, did Louise begin to feel more comfortable with her appearance. The fur-trimmed hem of the cloak fell nearly to her knees in a series of loose, rounded pleats, with two holes on either side for her arms to stick out demurely. Underneath she wore a long-sleeved plum dress that was, according to her mother, a new twist on an old fashion, but it hardly mattered; she was determined to keep the cloak on until she had safely returned to the townhouse for the evening. Turning to Celia, Louise smiled. "Thank you. How do I look?"

Celia averted her eyes. "Modest. But are you sure--"

"Father says that modesty is an excellent virtue to cultivate," Louise said a little too firmly. "Shall we go?"

For her part, her mother had only raised an eyebrow when Louise had descended the stairs. Lisette, as was natural for such a sanguine woman, was considerably warmer about the whole affair, and off the four of them went into the heart of the city proper. The cobblestone streets, though scuffed with the footsteps of the millions of people who had walked the streets since the time of the dominance of the Etruscan people, were still not quite as gray as the skies above them on this day. Whenever she was in Aquleia Louise always enjoyed a nice morning walk with Celia, the two of them peeking curiously into store windows while holding hands to make sure that neither of them were separated by the jostling crowds that filled the streets. During those times she remembered seeing the students of the various magic academies that inhabited the university line, one of the many prides of the cultural center of the continent that was Aquleia. She wondered if Lord Pent had ever been one of those students--if their paths had ever crossed before that fateful day she had been invited as a potential wife for him.

Now it was no longer about potential--she would be his wife once she passed her sixteenth birthday.

It was a strange thing to think of it, the fate she had willingly chosen, the fate that she couldn't escape. Nor did she want to. Though they had only met a precious few times so far, she liked Lord Pent.

She hoped he liked her, too.

At the beginning of the university line, where each academy along the pathway had its own center complete with fountain and plaque of commemoration, Lord Pent stood at the plaque for Edounis Academy just as they had planned through their letters. When she first saw him, like every time before, a little thrill of recognition had her straighten her posture and be more aware of each step she took as she made her way to him. Even dressed as casually as he was, he still retained something of his lordly stature as he watched her approach. "Lord Pent," she said with a curtsy, determined to greet him first, "good morning. I hope you haven't been waiting here long?"

There was a small smile on his face as he shook his head slightly. "No, not long at all. It's good to see you again."

_Really?_ Uplifted by those few words, she grinned. "I'm happy to see you too."

"I don't mean to interrupt you two," her mother said from behind her. Louise nearly jumped from fright before she turned around, her face feeling as hot as a furnace. "Good morning, Lord Pent."

"Good morning, Lady Catherine. How are you today?"

"I'm quite fine. I'd just like to know, is this academy of yours empty today, or will there be a lot of people?"

"I wouldn't say a lot, but it isn't completely barren either. There will be a number of students working on their projects over the weekend."

"Oh." Her mother nodded. "Then, I can trust the both of you to go on without us, I imagine."

Surprise echoed in her heart and head as Louise stared at her mother. "Mother...?" With the sort of irreverent verve that served her mother so well, she watched her mother lift her hand in a showy little wave.

"I've no intention of maneuvering through dusty shelves and the like when I could just as easily spend my time among the jewelers' crafts." Her mother grinned. "Of course, I'll need Lisette and Celia to carry my purchases. Once you're done with your tour, come meet us over at the fountain in the front of the city." Louise watched, with a bit of growing consternation, as her mother left with the maids in tow, although Celia gave her one last look before they headed down the street. When she turned to face Lord Pent, she noticed that his expression had only slightly changed, conveying a sense of confusion with just a slight widening of his eyes and parted lips. She had noticed this before, but Lord Pent was not nearly as emotive as her own father or her cousins.

"Lord Pent, you needn't worry," she started, her face warming as his eyes shifted from watching the departing trio to her face. "My mother loves jewelry. Every time she comes here she just has to bring home a few pieces."

His lips curled into a smile. "One for each person to carry?" Louise grinned at this.

"Usually she comes here accompanied by Lisette, who has been her lady's maid since...since my mother left to marry my father. Celia is my lady's maid...oh, but she's also a dear friend of mine. We've been raised together since we were both small, so it's rather more like she's my sister, blood or not." The insistent feeling that she was rambling on finally was too much to ignore, and she covered her mouth with the tips of her fingers as she began to giggle out of nervousness. "Forgive me, Lord Pent. I've been told that I like to go on about the most meaningless things..."

"It's quite all right. I don't find it meaningless. We, ah, we know so little about each other, so it's not a bother." He offered her his arm, and after she slipped her hand in the crook of his elbow they began to walk. His nearness to her always made her feel a little flustered, so she was grateful when he began to talk again. "Louise, are you also an only child?"

"Oh, yes. Sometimes I wish I had a brother or sister, but I'm really very happy with my family, and with Celia I can't imagine a better sister anyway. My father's elder sister, my Aunt Charlotte, has three sons. I wonder sometimes what it would've been like to live among them, but they have a much different life. My uncle and aunt are hunters, you see, so my cousins are much the same way." Louise laughed, knowing that she was going on and on again--but she did so love to talk to others! "I suppose I'm sort of the same way too."

Lord Pent chuckled, a pleasant sound that had her feeling warm again. "Your mother told me during the festival that your aunt is an archer of considerable skill. Did you learn from her, then?"

"She was my inspiration, yes. I was only about six then, and my aunt came to participate. I was so filled with wonder at the sight that I immediately wanted to learn archery from her, but since she was leaving to go back to Lycia my father instead had me trained under Master Lionel. He's held the top rank for over a decade now, and he's taught archery to many children in Alloway. But, he's been telling me as of late that I lack true focus, so my skill for the bow isn't very impressive." Though she felt a little depressed at the thought, she knew it was the truth; she could concentrate, but she hadn't the focus to be a master of archery.

"...What a thing to tell his own student," said Lord Pent in a low, disapproving tone. Quickly, Louise shook her head.

"Please don't think less of him. He praises me to my father, but even so, I'm not doing this for the praise. I just really love archery, even if I'm not very good at it." She smiled up at him. "I think that love for a hobby is even more important than talent. The latter makes it easy, but the former will see you through even when things aren't going quite so well."

"That's very well put."

"Do you think so? I only said what was on my mind just now." Lord Pent began to laugh after she said this, and the heat she felt now was solely that of embarrassment as she exclaimed, "Lord Pent, please don't laugh at me!"

He looked away, though not enough that she could fail to see the corner of his smile on his profile. "I'm not laughing at you. I was just amazed. You have quite the talent for saying the most meaningful things. It's very refreshing just to listen to you."

Louise lowered her head. "W-well, thank you. So, what about you?"

"What about me?"

"Your family..." she trailed off after realizing that he had no family to speak of, as his father was dead and so too his mother, but it had seemed like such a natural thing to ask about that now she was left even more embarrassed than before. "I-I mean...do you have aunts and uncles as well?"

They walked in silence underneath trees with leaves the colors of vibrant reds, rich oranges and old yellows, Louise heartily reprimanding herself for such a foolish question. After some time, Lord Pent sighed. "After my mother's death, I do remember being taken to live with my mother's relatives for some time, but I seem to recall only relief once I began attending school in the city. As for their faces, or their names...I'm sorry. I can't even remember my mother, so I'm not surprised that it's not any different with them."

Louise nearly gasped. "You don't remember your mother?" Lord Pent shrugged.

"She died when I was about four or so. From the few things I've gathered about that time, she was usually in her sickbed. I suppose that's no different than my father's death of illness, come to think of it."

If she could feel any more horrible about her careless words, Louise could not imagine it. With her head bowed, she could only say, "I'm sorry."

"I don't mind your questions. I'm only sorry that I don't have answers more in the line of your particular experiences." He paused, then, "But that might not be so bad. If I hadn't lived the way I had, I wouldn't be who I am today. I...can't say that I'm displeased with who I am, not entirely. So, don't look so sad, Louise."

Her ears picked up his unusual phrasing and she raised her head to look him in the face. "Lord Pent, you shouldn't be displeased with yourself at all."

"Well," he began. She frowned, just like her mother would if her mother was feeling particularly annoyed with her or her father's lack of confidence. At this, there was a flicker of surprise on Lord Pent's face before he smiled. "Oh, all right. I apologize. I must sound considerably unlike what you might have expected of someone of my stature."

"Nonsense, Lord Pent," Louise said, cheerful once again. "I want to understand you, not your station in life."

He brushed some of his short hair out of his face. "That's, ah...thank you." Looking away, he gestured at the last academy in the line. "That's my old school," he said, looking more lively. "Come now, it's time for your tour." Having never seen Lord Pent look so enthusiastic, Louise suppressed a giggle as she hurried her pace to match his long legs. They only stopped once they reached the plaque in front of the white building, where Lord Pent gestured for her to read the words chiseled on the marble on the pedestal. It was, in all things, the old Etruscan tongue, which her father had made sure she was fluent in. It was also, improbably, only a single line:

_Pour apprendre est de vivre._  
-Archsage Athos; 17 AS

"'To learn is to live'?" Louise questioned. Lord Pent nodded.

"I find it to be an excellent way to consider life." A slight smile appeared on his face. "It's about the only Etruscan I reliably know. I suspect you're more familiar with the language than myself."

Louise giggled. "It's a dying language even in Alloway. A lot of people say that the common tongue is the way to international peace."

Lord Pent's smile remained on his face even as a skeptical shading, an arch of an eyebrow, appeared. "That would be nice if it were true. Things do seem calmer between Etruria and Bern since Princess Hellene's wedding to the king of Bern. But you would know more about that than myself."

"My mother still writes to her, yes," she responded politely; she had a few people remark over her maternal link to the throne of Etruria, but she had never found such comments to her liking. "I do believe you have a tour to conduct, my lord?"

"So I do." And with those words, he lead her into the academy proper. Though the fact that the building used the same white rock as the palace itself was enough to convey the proper heft of its age, Louise couldn't help but marvel at what she beheld inside. This was no building of dusty bookshelves like her mother feared, but rather a house of knowledge updated for the modern era. The floors were made of imported tile with peculiar designs, and directly above the rounded atrium were a number of arches leading into a mutual peak, with each triangular space between the stone arches depicting a fragment of what appeared to be a reproduction of Lord Heizé of Caerleon's famous painting, _Eight God Commanders_. Because of the lights positioned at the bottom of each arch she could see clearly see the image of Saint Elimine, clad in the white gown and purple scarf that was now the habit for the sisters of the Etrurian branches of the Eliminean Church, as she held the sacred tome Aureola, her entire form bathed in the light of God as a gigantic dragon loomed menacingly before her. All the other heroes were in attendance, allotted their own space, but the figure of Saint Elimine was by far the most recognizable.

"Have you ever seen the original?" Lord Pent asked. Louise started, so caught as she was in the wonder of the art above her.

"No. It's over three hundred years old, isn't it?"

"Yes. I've heard that it's on display at the royal palace's gallery, but so far I haven't been invited to see it."

"And you are a count, at that," Louise teased. "But if you have to be invited into the gallery, why ask me if I've seen it?"

Lord Pent looked at her, his expression disappointingly blank, before he shook his head. "Forgive me, I'd forgotten."

She blinked, confusion a cloud that obscured her vision, before realization lit up her mind like sunlight. "Oh, that my mother is a pariah of the court." The look Lord Pent gave her then, that of surprised embarrassment, was almost too much for her to bear without bursting into laughter--but oh, how she tried to rein it in! "Lord Pent, I _do_ know my own family's history," she chided, unable to hide the wide smile on her face.

He chuckled then, though he still seemed stiff with embarrassment. "Of course you do. I didn't want to offend you, though."

"I can't be offended," she said, still smiling. "If it wasn't for my parents' bravery, I wouldn't be here."

"And that would be a shame," he added, turning away just as she stared at him in surprise. "As you can see, this is the entrance. The rest of the academy isn't quite this impressive, but there are some nice amenities. The Père Magie Academy of Magic Arts, the full name of this place, was first constructed in 468 AS. It's the oldest standing academy in Aquleia, and just a couple years ago the school held its quincentennial anniversary celebration..."

_Lord Pent has such a nice voice_, she mused as she followed in step with him, listening to him talk about the events of the anniversary celebration two years ago and how certain events reflected upon the history of the academy itself. _It's so very pleasant to listen to, and he sounds so mature. I feel like I could listen to him forever..._

"Hey, is that Pent?"

Both of them turned at the mention of Lord Pent's name, and Louise witnessed a slight widening of his eyes when he saw the three people approaching them from one of the corridors. The two young men and a woman were garbed in cloaks Louise assumed were part of the school uniform, and she felt like hiding behind Lord Pent when she noticed their curious glances at her...and her hand, still tucked securely into the crook of Lord Pent's arm. When she looked up at him, indecisive to the point of panic on whether she should remove herself and stand at a more respectable distance, she noticed a subtle softening to his expression and felt calmer just to see it.

"Hello," Lord Pent greeted when the students neared, "it's been a while, hasn't it?"

One of the young men, his hair a fiery red more reminiscent of Lycia than Etruria, laughed. "That's for sure. You don't know how much you were missed when we had the end-of-terms last semester, Pent."

The lone woman of the trio elbowed the redhead before smiling at Lord Pent. "Sorry about that, Lord Pent. A lot of us still keep forgetting your new status."

Louise blinked--was she imagining things, or did Lord Pent's expression dim? "I don't mind," he responded, his tone mild.

"Come now, you can't say that. You're Count Reglay now, not the guy whose class notes saved us all from academic probation semester after semester," said the other young man, who had short brown hair curled just above the tips of his ears. He glanced at her, then at Lord Pent, then back again. "Oh, are you the mysterious fiancée? I heard that Lady Jacqueline, the current mage general's daughter, was one of the potential brides, but, ah, you're the one who was chosen, huh?"

Smiling, Louise said, "I'm Louise of Alloway. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Alloway? That's the farmland county to the southwest, right?" Before Louise could respond, the brunet smiled. "So, how are you liking the big city?"

"Oh, I like it very much. I've come here with my mother many times since I was a child, usually on the way to visit my grandfather's estate."

"Your grandfather is of the titled nobility?" asked the young woman.

"Yes, he's Duke Mersey, the former Great General of Etruria."

"Wow, now I get it." The redheaded young man nodded, a smile playing on his lips. "Well, we'll leave you two alone now. It's nice to see you again, P--ah, Lord Pent."

"Likewise," Lord Pent said. Although Louise was distracted with trying to understand just what the redheaded student 'got', there was something nearly maudlin in Lord Pent's tone that had her instantly concerned. Lord Pent was obviously a man who did not reveal his feelings so easily, and so Louise decided to rein in her natural desire to question and soothe him, instead merely walking beside him as their tour continued. However, the near-jovial atmosphere between them had long since fled, and even as she tried her best to be engaged by his words and to engage him in turn with the brightness of character that her father so loved in her, it did not work. Their burgeoning connection had been cut.

_I must do something_, she realized. _Not only for the sake of us, but...Lord Pent is suffering._

"Lord Pent," she murmured after some time of silence, "is there a place where we can sit for a while?" He nodded before leading her down a hallway and out a door into a private little area that was as much a garden as it was a study area, though autumn yielded it no blooms to resemble the former at the moment. As the academy was the last of the university line, it held a uniquely valuable location; from the little outdoor area, one could see clearly the royal palace, the height of wonder in the most wondrous city in all of Elibe. But to Louise, its many spires and perfect whiteness could not hold her attention the same way Lord Pent's subtle lack of liveliness did.

They sat together on a single bench against a wall, not touching; Lord Pent's eyes were closed and to her he looked very tired. Even dressed in casual clothing he seemed to exude a sense of self-awareness about himself and his place in the world, not even slouching in his apparent exhaustion. It seemed cruel to bother him, but Louise was more uncomfortable with the idea of simply letting things be; what would be good about continuing on in this lifeless manner?

"Lord Pent," she called to him, her voice soft so as not to startle him. He opened his eyes and looked at her, the color a lovely shade of violet she had never noticed before--that is, her face had never been so close to his before. The thought made her face warm, although his lack of expression worried her now more than ever. "Is something wrong?"

"...No, not particularly," he said after a moment's pause. She couldn't help but frown in the face of this obvious untruth, determination sparking within her to be bold, as if she were her mother's child in temperament as well as appearance.

"Let's try this again, Lord Pent. What's wrong?"

A very complicated look crossed his features, all at once surprised, annoyed, and perhaps a bit of relief (she hoped the last was not merely her own mind playing a terrible trick on her). He smiled, though she had a feeling it was not altogether too honest. "Well, if there is something wrong with me, perhaps you already know what it is?"

Her first thought, and nearly her response, was that it had to do with her. All her doubts about being suitable for such a remarkable man, about herself and the physical and mental changes of growing up, wanted to burst free from her and be, if not validated, then acknowledged by someone other than herself. It was difficult to turn away from those doubts and think about Lord Pent himself and his own problems, his own worries and concerns that she knew so little about because they simply hadn't had the time to form the bonds necessary to speak so frankly. But then she remembered the slight glow in his already pleasant expression when his old schoolmates had called for him, how much he had appreciated seeing them in the place he seemed to regard with more fondness than Reglay itself, and how that had irrevocably changed at the mention of his title.

Count Reglay, Lord Pent. She dimly remembered the _Festival d'Armements_ and his mentioning a certain discomfort he felt about his work as the ascendant heir, but at the time she had thought it to be more of something that he was still struggling to get used to. She could understand that, now that she was studying to be a proper lady. But now she wondered if there was something deeper to his dismay, a darker emotion than the grays of unease.

"Lord Pent," she began, nervousness plucking an unsteady tune in her stomach, "do you perhaps...hate being Count Reglay?"

The words had an immediate effect upon him, stripping away layers of privacy and reserve and leaving only him, shock, and finally resignation. His lips twitched, as if he were about to say something, and then he pressed his lips together in an expression that was not quite a smile, but markedly more honest than before. Finally, he shook his head. "You're amazing. I'm that obvious, is it?"

"No, not at all." Though she felt herself flush with pleasure at the compliment, she kept herself from being distracted by focusing on his face. "I know I can't be of much help, but I'll listen to you if you like."

Lord Pent seemed to think about that for a moment. "I do resent it a bit. I had clear goals for myself, and I never imagined that I would have to ascend to my father's position at this age." He paused, then shook his head as he smiled. "You see, I'm still thinking of it as 'my father's position.' He really was the quintessential count...well. He was more count than father, at any rate." Sighing a bit, he looked a bit sheepish as he returned her gaze. "Do you see? I'm not very admirable at all. If I didn't have my steward to handle everything, I don't know where Reglay would be now."

She tittered a little nervously. "That's not true. I admire you."

"For what?"

"You...mnh." Edginess rose within her as she struggled to put into words just what had drawn her to him other than a sense of pity at his predicament. "Well, when you...chose me, there was something about your presence. I felt I was being--" She quickly stopped herself, not wanting to reveal something so embarrassing as that. "I felt your kindness. What I said that day was something everyone found worthy of mocking, except for you. Even if maybe you should have laughed the hardest."

"What was so amusing about that?" he asked, lacking all of his reserve as a look of indignation crossed his face. "You offered to protect me. Everyone else offered songs, or poetry, or dances, and they were certainly all very skillful, but you offered me your life, Louise. No one with any sense of dignity would mock such an offer, and the fact that all of those people, though they would claim nobility by blood and marriage, would not only brush your words aside but find ridicule in them only proved what a farce 'nobility' is. No one who displays such earnest sincerity should ever be found as amusement. They should be honored."

Louise grinned. "There, Lord Pent. That's why you're admirable."

He stared at her in shock for one moment, then he began to laugh. She joined in, covering her mouth when he glanced at her with such fond regard that her entire body seemed to be one heartbeat just underneath the skin, which burned with an unnecessary amount of heat. She must have looked like a tomato to him! His looking away from her was a hidden kindness, allowing her time to regain her composure--such as it was. "Don't ever change, Louise," he said, still looking away, his words quite audible. "I'll be very unhappy if you do."

She giggled. "Don't worry, my mother says that all propriety earns in return is a stiff back and a multitude of regrets. I don't want to regret anything in my life."

"That's good." Lord Pent stood up, then held out a hand to her. "Speaking of your mother, we should get back before she regrets not chaperoning us. I'd like to speak more openly with you in the future, after all."

"I'd love that," she said as she took his hand, feeling a little shy but very hopeful as she wrapped her fingers lightly around the side of his hand. "I know I might not be of much help, and I may not even understand, but please confide in me if something is bothering you, or even if something isn't. I...I'm here for you."

"Thank you." Though his natural sense of reserve seemed to have returned to him, to her he seemed considerably lighter than before as they headed inside the academy again. "And likewise, though you don't seem to have any worries whatsoever."

"That's not true," she immediately replied, before burning with embarrassment--she couldn't tell Lord Pent about those kind of things!

"Hm, really? What is it?"

"W-well, it's really nothing. I won't bother you with it."

"Ah, I see. Our relationship is far from mutual, is that it?"

"Lord Pent, you're teasing me again...ah! Don't laugh!"

-end-

And here's the second part! I'm very sorry if the first part disappointed you, considering that no one has said anything at all about it, but I do hope this one makes up for it for you. I hope to have two more stories up in July, so please look forward to them. Thank you for reading!

Père Magie--Father (of) Magic. Judging by the quote outside the school, it's obvious who this refers to. Although Athos represents Nabata, since he didn't go there until long after The Scouring I'd suppose he was originally Etrurian. He is lugging around Elimine's sacred tome, so...?


	7. Elegant Arrangements, part 1

Bouquet

(C) Intelligent Systems and Nintendo

-0-

Elegant Arrangements in Priceless Vases, or, A Story Told in Six Movements

First Movement: Sweet Pea  
(_a meeting_)

Dearest Lord Pent, how have you been? Regarding your last letter, I truly believe the closeness of our birthdays to be a happy coincidence, and I would be pleased to accept your invitation. My parents enjoy celebrating throughout the entire month of January, partly because of our heritage as Lighter Elimineans and partly because we all do so love a party, especially in a month as bleak and as unkind to farming as that month. I do agree that either the latter end of the month or early February would be a fine time to meet; therefore, I will eagerly anticipate it. As there are only a couple short months until the event, I will think very hard to bring a fine gift worthy of you...

...Moving on to other matters, I am relieved to hear that you found my idea acceptable. If it would not be an inconvenience, perhaps you and your mother could come and visit the castle for a few days as honored guests? You have never had the opportunity to visit the castle town, and to be honest I have not had much opportunity myself between my work and rewriting my paper. I would be happy to make additional accommodations as necessary. As for the idea of a gift, I must admit that I am curious to see what you will come up with. May I ask what you would like? I cannot pretend I know exactly what would suit you. Whatever you like, I will do my best to find...

...My dear lord, birthday gifts are much more fun when they are a surprise! I find that I like the very most those gifts that I never knew I had needed until they were bestowed upon me. It perhaps has something to do with how my family and friends envision my needs year by year, and how they strive to fulfill that unconscious need in their own, special way. Therefore, I can only refuse to answer your question, and I must also add that I am very much looking forward to what you will find for me...

...Mlle. Émile, that is unexpectedly cruel. I find that I am at a loss, having not fallen into the habit of gifting except when necessary. I never imagined such utter disdain and lack of pity for those who are like me, an innocent in this apparently treacherous world where a single gift can say so much, and yet you will not even grant me a single hint. Wasn't there a parable in the Journey of Saint Elimine that decried such unkindness?

Oh, Lord Pent, how unkind you are to tease me so! But, it is already December, and my mother wishes to know what will be occurring during our mutual celebration. My father is particularly anxious, although he is still unsure on whether he will attend or not. Regardless, may I ask the date you have settled on?

...About the matter of our birthday celebration, I am afraid that it has changed much since its conception. My steward, once he learned of our plans, decided that it would be the perfect time to hold a ball in honor of our birthdays, among other things. When will you be able to come here? I am afraid that we now have dancing lessons to attend or else risk great displeasure, the castle seamstresses would like to fit you for a dress, and I am being harassed daily over a thousand little arrangements and cannot find a moment's peace to work on anything. Honestly, they are even asking me about flower arrangements for the banquet--do flowers even grow in winter?  
Yours, Pent Martel

Second Movement: Cherry Tree  
(_education_)

The first time Louise had placed her hand in Lord Pent's had inspired within her a feeling unlike any other, both blessing and balm granted at a time when she was made to endure nothing short than the worst moment in her life. Then there had been the second, holding hands as they hurried from Lord Pent's former academy to the entrance of the city or risk her mother's anger or even worse, the sharp-tipped wit her mother wielded as deftly as any master swordsman his blade. Now, after a week-long stay at Castle Reglay where she and Lord Pent had dancing lessons once a day in two-hour increments, she could no longer fully recover the girlish pleasure she took at the newness of his touch, though her growing experience could never be claimed a poor substitute. As he was the first man outside of her family with whom she had the pleasure of physical acquaintance, she took care to attempt to imprint upon her memory a worthwhile description of how his touch felt, but she could do no more than barely understand the tumble of feelings in her chest each and every time, even with the growing familiarity.

There were other tumbles too, owing to the fact that neither of them were particularly sure-footed individuals with any extravagant amount of grace. She could understand it in herself, who was not comfortable in a body she barely recognized as her own as of late, but Lord Pent had never proven to be inordinately clumsy in their few meetings. Then again, with the work piled on him, she could not help but wonder if he had been getting enough sleep lately. Beyond their daily lessons, they rarely crossed paths except for dinner and the occasional breakfast and afternoon tea, though she would be so lucky to have all those possible meetings in a single day.

Perhaps it was for the best. He battled with the budget and the whims of the minor lords of Reglay County, and she had her own battles as well.

Their instructor, a woman who dressed even more severely than Louise's dear mother and demanded to be called 'Madame', clapped her hands to signify the end of the lesson. Louise had to turn her head to hide the disappointment on her face when Lord Pent released her with a soft sigh of relief, even though she knew in her heart of hearts that it had nothing to do with her--he just found it all to be slightly ridiculous at best, and he was not at his best these days. So, instead of letting her brief weakness overwhelm her, she used the time it took to step back from his tall frame to compose herself so that the smile she sent him afterward was truthful to her feelings. "Only three more days left," she reminded him. "We're doing better together, aren't we?"

He looked more relaxed than she had seen him recently as he returned her smile. "So long as I follow you," he replied in an agreeable tone. "Shall we have you lead tomorrow?"

"The man always leads!" reprimanded Madame from halfway across the unfinished ballroom, startling the both of them out of their casual conversation. Regrettably it could not be recovered, as Lord Pent's features developed the strained look that far too often eclipsed his natural reserve as he glanced at a tiny table clock on one of the side tables.

"I have to go. If I can finish the paperwork for next year's budget in two hours, I'll have some time to research more on elder magic." His expression was so apologetic that Louise wished for nothing more than for the day to gain a couple more hours so that he could finish all the work required of him. Unfortunately, all she could do was nod and smile.

"I'll see you at dinner then, Lord Pent."

After he departed, his long legs working at a stride she could never match, much less overtake, the smile on her lips tapered off as she thought on what was next in regards to her own itinerary. She found herself trudging out the ballroom towards her next destination in a most unladylike manner, but it could not be helped. Every childish impulse within her wanted to pretend at illness if only to escape for a single afternoon, but Lord Pent would hear of it (as he heard of all things, being lord and master of the castle) and it would worry him unnecessarily. That, coupled with his growing stress in regards to his duties, would be the height of unkindness towards him--she could never do such a thing!

Just as her mother had told her, this was the path she had chosen. Thus, she must walk it. But...

Misery made heavy both her heart and her step, but as she neared the door where she was to meet the seamstress and the many maids who were working on her dress for the ball she took amends to step more carefully. Already she could hear them talking on the other side of the ajar door about the thing they so loved to hate the most--Louise herself.

"Honestly, that's what Leena told me! That girl not only eats everything on her plate, but she also took dessert as well. She'll eat anything offered to her!"

"It just puts more strain on us. I told her mother the other day, 'Milady, you need to watch what the girl eats, she's too short to hide much fat. All the corsetting in the world won't help her once it starts to show.' And would you believe it, her mother actually asked me if I knew it from experience! It really hurts my heart, it does, that our lord would accept such vile, uncouth people into our home. You know, the former count was just beyond excellence, but his son..."

"Oh, not one word more from you! Lord Pent is just growing into the position. He's still just a boy."

"True, true enough. We can only hope he'll find someone more suitable at the party. An actual woman worthy of being called Countess Reglay, that's all I pray for at night. I don't think I could stay on if he actually married that child."

"Don't say that. I'm certain we can survive her. She's so pleasantly stupid that it'd be a cinch to get our way around here. If only we could make sure she chose one of us as her lady's maid instead of that copper-haired girl it'll be just wonderful. That's the one I really hate. She's always looking at me like she's judging me. Can you believe the nerve of a farmer's maid looking at anyone like that?"

"Just go lean on Master Borenze a bit, and I'm sure he'll make it happen. Lord Pent always does what he says, I heard."

"If only that worked for our lord's choice of bride. I hear he's still seething over the pre-nuptial negotiations. They're absolute skinflints, but is that really a surprise?"

Closing her eyes, Louise took a step back, her heart wounded by her fatal sense of curiosity. Every day she did this, knowing that each time she would be harmed severely, but she always, always wanted to learn more. For all their little cruelties, their unkind suggestions, their bland stares whenever she talked as if they were willing her to shut up, she still had yet to find out _why_ they said such things even when she listened in secret. All she could figure out was that they harbored a deep displeasure towards her as a result of her lower class and the fact that they felt she was unworthy of Lord Pent--that was her own fear too, sometimes, but it only made her all the more determined to do her best. However, everything she did were the very worst of sins according to them, and she did not know how to prove herself otherwise.

She took another step backwards, as if to distance herself further from the very real ache she felt, only to find her back hitting against something solid. Gasping softly, she spun around, only to find herself face-to-face with kind Lisette, who wore a look of such concern that it made Louise want to burst into tears from the sympathy. In the next moment she found herself embraced by Lisette's sturdy arms, her face pressed against the maid's shoulder. For one moment, one heartbeat, Louise longed to give into her emotions and indulge herself in a good cry.

Of course she couldn't, and the moment passed. But that the moment even existed in the first place hurt her sense of pride terribly.

"Never mind what they say," Lisette whispered into her hairline. "In a moment, you're going to go in there and show them that good Allowellian ladies can endure anything, even prissy castle maids who think they can assume a lord's stature just because they wear his crest on their aprons. And soon enough you'll show them what it means for Lady Catherine's daughter to be in charge."

"But," Louise fidgeted, "I don't want to be mean to them. That--that wouldn't be right."

Lisette, sweet Lisette, chuckled warmly. "You really are your parents' child." The comment was enough to urge a tremulous smile onto Louise's face, and she, in a rush of emotion stemming from a feeling much more immature than her fifteen years of age, snuggled her face into the crook of Lisette's neck.

"I know I have to go in there, but for right now, can I please...?" The delight that blossomed within Louise when Lisette only tightened her hold made her believe that even winter could be a fertile season, so long as there were people who loved her nearby.

And she would protect that small bloom of hope, no matter how often others sought to rip it out.

-0-

_One, two, three...one, two, three...one, two, three..._

Pent started from his reverie, momentarily confused. It took him another moment to realize that he was sitting at his desk in the office he had inherited from his departed father, and that he had written the dance counts several times in the letter of gratitude he was sending to Baron So-and-So in return for a gift that he had no intention of ever using. With a sigh of suppressed frustration, he crumpled the letter and tossed it with the rest of the paper waste before leaning back in his chair, rubbing at his eyes. He felt disheveled and worn, the natural consequence of having all sorts of work and requests imposed upon him to such an extent that he hadn't been outside in weeks to talk with the spirits. If he were asked to cast a spell from a fire tome, he had a feeling all that would come out would be sparks and ash. Glancing at the clock on the wall, he saw that he would have to find himself at dance lessons in less than half an hour and wondered if he could get away with napping for that long...

There was a knock on the door, and the only reason why he suppressed the urge to set it on fire was because he kept his magic tomes in his bedroom.

"...Come in," he said after a moment, straightening his posture as he did so. One of the clerks entered, his head lowered so that Pent was left staring at a crown of auburn hair. This attempt at supplication did nothing but irritate Pent, if only because he had a feeling the following meeting would eat up all of the time he could've spent resting.

"Milord," the clerk said as he approached Pent's desk, his head lifting just enough that Pent could see the contrite expression on his youthful face. Pent noticed that the clerk was carrying a few of the leather-bound ledgers that he recognized as the financial records for the previous years. His interest slightly piqued, Pent gestured for the clerk to sit down.

"What can I do for you?"

"Ah...there was something I discovered--"

"Oh, Lord Pent!" As the clerk hadn't closed the door behind him, Pent had the perfect view to watch a few maids waltz (the very word dampening his slight uptick in his mood) into his office without even a 'by your leave'. "Milord, we need to ask you a few questions about some last-minute replacements," began the eldest of the women. "Now--"

"Pardon me," Pent started, raising his hand for some peace. "Can't you discuss whatever it is with Lady Catherine?"

"Well, no, of course not. These things can only be decided by the head of House Reglay, since we'll need additional funds."

Pent shook his head. "Why not ask Louise, then? She's going to be the future lady of the house, she can surely agree as well as I ever could."

The maids shifted, but only the eldest maid curled her lip in such a way that confused Pent. "I'm terribly sorry, but we'd much prefer if you answered, milord."

In desperation he looked at the clock on the wall. Ten minutes had already passed, and he had the feeling that the maids would simply not budge until they had their audience with him. His eyes met with the clerk's, and as if the older man could read his mind the clerk stood up. "Forgive me, milord. I will consult with you another day."

"After this whole ball fuss dies down I'll give you as much time as you like," Pent promised the clerk, only to hear a gasp from his now-appalled maids.

"Milord, how can you be so dismissive! This will be a very important party! You'll be able to personally meet with many of the young lords and ladies of Etruria! Even though you are Count Reglay, this will be vitally important in order to maintain strong bonds with other noble houses!"

As best as he could, Pent withheld a sigh as he endured the ensuing lecture with the bare remnants of his good grace, nodding and making the most absurd decisions between cornflower blue or sky blue for something-or-the-other, the only firm, realized thought going through his mind being _I just wanted to spend some time with Louise, what does all this have to do with that?_

Third Movement: Red Valerian  
(_readiness_)

On the evening of the ball, Pent stood in front of the floor-length mirror as his valet straightened out the coat he wore and remembered a time before he was Count Reglay.

_He turned from his image in the mirror as the door to his room opened. "Father?"_

_There was no expression on his father's face as the older man looked at him--there rarely was. All Pent could say with certainty in regards to his sire was that Count Reglay eschewed frivolity whenever possible, locked away in his office as was his wont. Pent only minded this when he was in Reglay Castle, which was not often after he had been accepted into a magic academy, but he kept his feelings to himself because no one particularly cared for his opinions. His father couldn't surprise him, he thought, because one cannot be surprised when there are no expectations at all._

_He thought wrong; that was why he was in this position now._

_His father stayed near the door. "I heard you dismissed your valet."_

_Pent returned his attention to the mirror, his head slightly lowered as he worked on the buttons of his coat. "Yes."_

_"Why?"_

_"...Not to sound impertinent, but I can dress myself."_

_"It has nothing to do with that." Pent raised his head slightly in reaction, somewhat confused as to why they were even having this conversation in the first place. "You will have to become accustomed to the position of Count Reglay. I have allowed you to maintain your independence, but you must comport yourself as my heir when you are in this place."_

_"...As you like," Pent responded. "Then, I will call him in--"_

_"Don't bother. This is just something for you to remember in the future."_

_Pent looked at his father then, mildly uncomfortable with the conversation, though he could not put a finger on what it was that bothered him so. It was not like his father to come to him only to impart advice. It made him want to push back, to make his father fall from his lofty indifference so that Pent would not be alone in his discomfort, but the most he was willing to do was to say, "Thank you for the birthday party, Father."_

_There was a flicker of annoyance on his father's face. "Don't be so naive. This has nothing to do with you."_

_Pent smiled inwardly. "Yes, of course." It was only a coincidence that he had bothered to come back to Reglay due to the confusion going on at the academy over the quincentennial celebration, even more of a coincidence that it was a week until his birthday, and the crowning achievement of all coincidences being that his father had planned a small party with the nobility of Reglay for the sake of flattering them. Now, of course, the excuse was that it was to celebrate the Reglay House heir's fourteenth birthday, and it had all gotten quite a bit more extravagant in the telling. Neither father nor son were much for large parties, but Pent had to admit a certain amount of pleasure in the fact that he was apparently noticeable enough that his stiff-backed father had been forced to modify his plans._

_"Your mother liked parties."_

_The sudden volunteering of information made Pent pause. "Did she?"_

_His father nodded. "If she were still alive, she would've dominated this whole farce and made it about herself."_

_It would only occur to Pent later that this was an in, that he could've connected with his father, if only begrudgingly, while learning more about the mother he had never known. Had he known that his father would pass away within two years, he liked to think that he surely would have tried. Instead, he murmured something noncommittal, finished straightening out his coat, and they went on their way without another word._

_And that was that._

Three years later, Pent exhaled softly as his valet finished with his coat. He supposed he looked as fine as he ever would for something of this nature, however much his heart beat inside his chest in general dismay over all of this, and with a tense smile he held his hand out to his valet. "The gift, if you would please."

The valet disappeared for a moment, returning with the slender rectangular object, easily thin enough to slip inside his coat. Pent felt much more relieved as he did so, feeling particularly proud of himself for discovering such a perfect gift for Louise. Surely she would be pleased, and he would never reveal to her just how much he wracked his brain trying to figure out just what she would desperately want but never realize for herself; what a silly girl she was, writing all that and making him almost uncontrollably frantic as the weeks disappeared without any sign of the perfect present.

He smiled, feeling a little silly himself. But, he didn't think it was a bad thing, not for either of them. To be honest, it was quite...fun.

-0-

As much as Louise enjoyed transforming from a caterpillar to a butterfly, she had to admit that the process of the metamorphosis could be much improved with greater satisfaction to herself. It had not been so horrible before, when she was being prepared--she did not feel she could claim the active voice at that time--to present herself to Lord Pent, but this time she was not left to the capable fingers of Lisette and Celia. It had been insisted upon by the maids of Reglay Castle that they would assist her, for as their lord's betrothed it meant that Louise herself would be representing House Reglay in some fashion.

To put it another way, Louise had never learned much in the way of wood carving, for even if it was dead she in some way felt sorry for what used to be part of an old, stately tree. Now she would never learn because she could sympathize with how the wood itself must feel.

Two maids, at either side of her, pulled and tugged their combs through her hair while muttering imprecations over its thin quality; her mother liked to say it was comparable to spun golden silk, always willing to impart a healthy shine while being soft and smooth to the touch. It was not hair that needed much more than a delicate touch to mold it and a few pins to keep it still, but the maids working on it now seemed to think it was rather more like facing a battalion of tightly-woven curls. This was similar to how they had forced her into her dress, muttering all the while that she must have gained weight, although she was already aware, though her shameful interest in eavesdropping, that her dress had been sabotaged so that it was one size smaller--the seamstress hoping aloud that it would humiliate her into eating more 'ladylike portions.' In a rare fit of pique, Louise simply continued to eat however much she liked and took to longer walks around the castle with Celia. The end result was that she could still fit into her dress for the fateful night, but her corset was tightened without care for her still-growing body and her bosom was exposed to such an extent that she didn't dare look at herself in the vanity mirror before her. Though she knew she was being set up for failure, the fact that her mother had taken one look at her and nodded approvingly before she was whisked away to face untold torment to her hair and scalp meant that the maids had only succeeded in embarrassing her with the debatable bounties of her body while still keeping her appropriate for the ball.

She winced as her head was tugged rather abruptly in one direction; the maid to her left muttering, "Hold still!" before yanking her back in the other direction. It was all she could do not to cry out in pain, not when she was already so determined to show that she could not be subdued or bent in such a manner. As her father had said, worth beyond beauty--words she would live by.

"I think that is enough!"

The maids at Louise's sides stilled their activity, the whole room having gone quiet without warning. Louise fidgeted, her fingers twisting and pulling at each other in exposed nervousness; that had been unmistakably dear Celia's voice, strong and solid with righteousness. It was the sort of tone that would either awe or anger those it addressed, and Louise noted with dismay that the maid to her right was gripping her hair in a matter that did not suggest the former. "You, be quiet! Leave this work to the true professionals and sit down!"

Celia did not pause in that thoughtful manner Louise had always known whenever they talked between themselves; this was an altogether different girl, one with anger lacing her words as she said, "Professionals? Is it professional to treat a noblewoman in such a manner? Are you even trying to style her hair, or do you only want to extend your torture until you can make her cry? This surely can't be the extent of the skill of the maids House Reglay hires, can it?"

"What sort of talk is this, coming from a child like you?" mocked another maid, who had been reclining upon a chaise in the room and complaining loudly about the arduous task of 'squeezing' Louise into her dress before Celia's outburst. "You think we care about the words of a farmer's servant? Know your place--"

"Enough," Louise said, staring directly into the mirror before her, her back as straight as she could get it (the corset helping in this endeavor immensely), her anger at Celia's mistreatment causing her to grip her hands in her lap to give her feelings the outlet necessary to keep them off her face. "I won't hear one more word against her. You all may serve House Reglay, but you're all still servants too, in the end." She paused, knowing she had gone too far with that last remark, but feeling strangely unconcerned about the consequences--for the sake of her dearest friend, of the girl who was sister to her in all ways but blood, she would not endure anyone speaking ill of Celia. "Celia, please help me with my hair."

She could see Celia in the mirror, her good friend's strawberry-blond hair bouncing to and fro as she nodded. "It would be my pleasure, Lady Louise."

Louise did not have to use the mirror to see the faces of the Reglay Castle maids to know their emotions; she could feel their anger almost as keenly as she had just now felt her own. She knew that what she had done was unforgivable in their eyes, and any chance she had of their accepting her as their mistress and lady of the house was now years delayed, if not completely obliterated. Perhaps her only friend in the entire castle was Lord Pent now.

But she was fifteen years old, no longer quite the child in either mind nor body. She knew there would be hard, adult decisions before her, and she could no longer be protected from making them. Her mother told her to walk the path before her.

If at all possible, she would like to do so with the people she trusted by her side.

-0-

"Nervous, are you?"

Louise started, tearing her gaze away from the door where Lord Pent would enter to escort her to the dining room to face her mother, who was sitting next to her in perfect stillness as she read one of her omnipresent novels. "N-no," she answered, somewhat breathless.

Her mother turned the page of the small, leather-bound book, not looking up from its pages. "And you're feeling well? Not going to faint or anything like that?"

"Um, no, not especially."

With a quickness that belied her mother's normally deliberate movements, her mother slammed the book onto Louise's leg, which she had been jostling in nervous anticipation for some time now. Louise gasped, deeply surprised, and went still. Her mother leaned forward, something of a smile--though it revealed more irritation than it did kindness--on her face as she said, "Then kindly stop that. No one likes to hear the persistent rustle of satin and tulle as background noise."

"Y-yes, forgive me," Louise said, duly chastened. Her mother removed the book as she returned to her normal position, her smile now replaced by a look of consternation as her gaze stayed on Louise's face. "Mother?"

Her mother waved a hand in a gesture Louise had long since interpreted as a way of revealing that she was mildly discomfited, even if she said nothing to that effect. "This is your first ball. Had you lived in another world you would be more experienced at such a thing, what with debuting and status and whatnot. Since you lack experience, just do the best you can and learn well for the next time. You can only really go up from here."

Nodding, Louise responded, "I have no intention of making Lord Pent look bad."

"Think more about yourself," her mother chided. "As it is, your negatives will not make those others inclined to appreciate you."

"My negatives?"

"Your newness, your disinclination to conformity..." A smirk appeared on her mother's face. "Your parentage."

Louise shook her head fiercely. "I would much rather have you and Father as my parents than any advantage I have never known." This insistence only grew stronger as her mother's expression grew, by the faintest degree, sad and--dare she say?--resigned. "Mother, is something wrong?"

Her mother raised a hand to touch her own hair, her fingers a warmer tinge of her natural peaches-and-cream complexion against the rich color of her dark brown locks. They both wore simple, elegant twists, but such a look was more natural on her mother, who wore her hair as such everyday if possible. "Don't you worry about me. I know you're feeling uncomfortable, but that doesn't mean you should avoid your feelings by concentrating on someone else's problems. You are selfless and that made you easy to raise, but you're not going to get far in this world if you put others before yourself."

"Oh," Louise breathed. Having thus been found out, she wavered. "I just wonder...if it is really necessary that I, um, expose myself to this degree..."

"Expose?" Her mother's tone was incredulous. "Louise, it's just your shoulders and a bit of your chest." At that distressing word, Louise's hands went to that area, lightly fingering the strings of thin silver wire that looped around and around in lengthening ovals, the borrowed necklace studded with set stones of lapis lazuli dark enough to match her dress. Her mother did not seem to notice the action as she continued her lecture. "Certainly you seem to have grown quite a bit more womanly since the last time you were dressed up for the sake of House Reglay, but even your father would--well, he'd have a bit to say about it, but it's hardly scandalous--" Stopping herself in mid-sentence, her mother sighed in obvious frustration. "Oh, no. Is this why you've taken to wearing such dreadfully ill-fitting outfits? This is really an inopportune time for this conversation, you do realize."

Louise looked away. "I know it is a petty thing, but it all seems so sudden..." She felt her mother's hand on the bare skin of her shoulder and felt compelled to face her mother, no matter the expression she would have to see. Her mother's face, so familiar to her, was softened by compassion so bright and pure that in that moment Louise could not turn away from her mother for anything in the world.

"You may be a strange child, but your feelings are those of every woman that has come before you and will come after you. After tonight we'll talk more about this, but for now I want you to know that you aren't alone. Just, for now, remember to hold your head up high and breathe calmly--yes, like that. Even if you have no confidence right now, it is vitally important that you not shrink away. Once you get in the habit of imitating mice, then you've lost. Just remember, you are the girl Lord Pent chose." A sudden distaste for the words she was hearing made Louise wrinkle her nose, though she could not place why she wished to avoid them so readily. To this, her mother showed her white teeth in a small grin. "What is the matter now?"

"Somehow, although I was happy to be selected by Lord Pent, I...don't like how you said that," Louise answered with some struggle, unsure of her feelings while at the same time knowing them intimately. Her mother laughed.

"Good, very good. You at least understand that much. Hold on to that feeling, and never let it out of your sight. You're not some horse, or dare I say a brood-mare, but a young woman with a sense of dignity and purpose. If you put your entire pride in being chosen, rather than in those actions that caused you to rise above all others in his estimation, you might as well stand on your pedestal and freeze your muscles stiff." With a twist of her lips, Louise's mother reached forward and lightly pinched Louise's nose. "But don't wrinkle your nose that way, it's unladylike."

Louise giggled and pulled away, raising one gloved hand to hide what now must be a slightly reddened nose. "I'll remember that," she promised. "Thank you, Mother."

"Oh, it's--"

The door opened.

-0-

If Pent was nervous--something he would deny vigorously, should anyone dare--he was determined not to let it show. He certainly had no reason to feel anything other than somewhat put out when it concerned the matter of this ridiculous party. All that was left for him to do, after weeks of disorder and added stress on top of the annual budget, was to escort Louise to dinner, then to the ballroom, dance however little he could get away with as was appropriate, then he would give Louise her present and retire back to his own room and sleep. Obviously, the night would improve greatly by the end. At least for the last few days of her stay they would at least have the time to talk. All that was left was this.

He was not anxious, merely perturbed that he had to wait for no discernible reason before he could meet with her. Though he normally considered himself fairly patient, he found his imagination occupied by rather depressing scenarios as he stood in the hallway outside the room where Louise and her mother should be waiting. This did not mean that he was particularly agitated; it was surely a known fact that fatigue could bring out unpleasant visions. It must be so, even if he was more awake than he had been of late.

Pent sighed. During prior engagements, he had never recalled feeling so strange before. Was it a symptom of adulthood, the mark of turning seventeen and feeling many years older? He could only feel grateful that his hair was already gray.

_It's all because my plans were for naught_, he thought with a slight smile despite himself. _No matter what I do now, I'll have to adhere to the rules of being noble-born. My status as Count Reglay demands it. Perhaps if I'm lucky, Louise will enjoy all this. Of course, if I'm really unlucky, she'll enjoy this type of thing too much._

He heard the soft footsteps of someone approaching and looked up to find a male servant. "Milord, it is time."

"Everything is in place, then?"

"Of course."

With a nod, Pent walked to the door and opened it, realizing only afterward that he probably should have knocked first. In his impatience he seemed to have interrupted a discussion between Louise and her mother, and in delayed embarrassment he paused his stride and said, "Forgive me, I hope I haven't interrupted anything important."

"N-not in the least, Lord Pent," Louise replied as she rose from her seat, bowing her head as she dipped into a curtsy. "I wish you a happy birthday."

"Yes, thank you. The same to you, Louise." He would have remarked on the fact that her birthday had already passed and his was in the latter half of this, the first ice month of the year, but he found himself inexplicably distracted by Louise's appearance--or rather, a facet of it. She wore an off-the-shoulder dress the same dark blue Reglay had adopted as its primary color, and on the front of her bodice the Reglay crest had been embroidered in bright gold. It made him uncomfortable to see her out of her colors of dawn and fitted into that of House Reglay, as if she had been stripped of everything that made her interesting and attractive to him and was well on her way into being Countess Reglay, lady of the house. He especially hated the crest upon her, like the branded cattle he had seen once on a short tour through the county. The realization that he must have approved of this design when it was waved in front of him by the seamstresses simply because he had been distracted was like being burned with his own spell; by choosing her as his bride, he was doing his part in ruining her.

If the evening could become worse for him than it already was, he would not like to see it.

"...Lord Pent?"

He blinked at the mention of his name before his gaze flickered upward from the crest and he became momentarily distracted for a completely different reason. When his gaze reached her face, he saw that her face was bright red as she stared at him in what was most charitably described as shock. Thankful for his ability to remain pleasantly expressionless during the worst of times, he merely said, "That crest is a little ridiculous, wouldn't you say?"

Louise flinched, then looked down at herself, her hands on her flat waistline. "Oh! It is a bit interesting." She raised her head and smiled at him, absolutely no distrust upon her charming features. "But I was very honored to have a dress made for me by your servants. I'm very thankful to you, Lord Pent."

He shook his head as he approached her. "Think nothing of it. The form of the dress suits you very well--all of it does, really," he amended as quickly and naturally as possible. He offered her his arm to distract her further and looked over her head at Lady Catherine, who had a neutral expression just as good as his own. "Lady Catherine, it's a pleasure to see you again. I hope you don't mind your role for the night."

There was a look of careful consideration on the older woman's face. "I don't mind it one bit, Lord Pent. After all, she is my only child and I am very willing and able to be an excellent chaperone to her."

_She's angry at me, isn't she._ Pent nodded and quickly returned his attention to Louise as they headed out the door. "Well, Louise, I hope you'll enjoy dinner. I hear the chef is very happy that you enjoy his meals." He was happy too--she didn't waste food.

"Oh, I'm glad," Louise said with a giggle. "But I wonder, will there be cake for dessert?"

He heard Lady Catherine sigh loudly behind them, but with newfound amusement he focused on Louise's question. "Cake?"

"Yes, like a birthday cake. I quite like all kinds of cakes very much. Ellie, our cook at home, makes delightful desserts," Louise replied with a small smile and pink cheeks. With a light touch she placed her free hand on his forearm. "Sometime you should visit us and try some of them, if you don't mind."

"I don't," he replied, though he lacked the sweet tooth necessary for that sort of venture. Hearing her talk so cheerfully about dessert made him reassess his thoughts from earlier regarding Louise and her possible ruination at the hands of his noble house. To underestimate her, he felt, would be an insult neither of them should have to bear. "If there isn't a cake today, there will definitely be cake tomorrow," he promised, and at the sight of her invincible smile he began to have hope that tonight would not be so bad after all.

-end to part 1-

Originally this story was supposed to be one part alone, but then I just kept writing and writing and now it seems I've written over seven thousand words for just the first half. I didn't think that a 15K story would be a good idea after splitting The Budding Garden, which I'm sure had less words, so I hope this is more convenient for all of you reading. The second half will come out later this week, and please expect a number of Bouquet stories this month! Thank you for reading!


	8. Elegant Arrangements, part 2

Bouquet

(C) Intelligent Systems and Nintendo

-0-

Elegant Arrangements in Priceless Vases, or, A Story Told in Six Movements

Fourth Movement: Viscaria  
(_will you dance with me?_)

While Louise had never debuted and now would never need to, she was familiar with the parties held by Allowellian nobles due to her father's influence in the county. There was a sparseness to their parlors that was abhorred in Aquleia but celebrated in the homeland of the Lighter Eliminean denomination of the faith, a delicacy in interior design that Louise truly felt resonated with her own taste. Compared to that, Aquleia's townhouses and her grandfather's manor felt cold and cluttered, almost mercenary in their display of the most desired and trendy _objets d'art_ with which to attract the attention of other people for the sake of reputation. That was, in fact, exactly how her grandfather put it to her; he eschewed displays of wealth but felt beholden to act in the very same way he despised due to his titles and social position.

Although her heart felt isolated from such tactics, she could not help but admire Castle Reglay's ballroom. _It's so glamorous_, Louise thought in wonder, fighting the urge to stop and simply take in the beauty of it all.

Crystal chandeliers hung high above the room, tiers upon tiers of candles working together to grant the room the gift of light. As the ballroom was on the second floor of Castle Reglay's east wing, glass doors framed in light wood led to the outer balcony area, though the late winter month coupled with the usual night chill common to central Etruria kept the doors closed this night. And, despite the month, there were fresh bouquets of flowers tastefully combined in what her untrained eyes saw as simple vases but her mind, as befitting the daughter of a woman who loved jewelry to an almost disconcerting extent, knew instinctively as being priceless. These vases stood upon small tables set here and there against the walls; not enough to crowd the room, as wide as it was, but not too few for the ballroom to seem inadequately decorated. There were musicians set up in one corner: the violinist and harpist were _de rigueur_ for these events, but what drew a gasp from quite a few of the guests behind herself and Lord Pent was the sight of a real, live piano, a very recent invention to the musical world that only Etruria could have ever produced. It was made from a richly colored wood Louise could only assume was maple, with accents of gold at its feet and along the large raised rim. During her visits to the castle she had always admired everything it had to offer, from the great hall to the outdoor gardens to the gallery, but it was not until her gaze alighted upon the sight of the piano that she fully comprehended what it meant for Lord Pent to be head of one of the oldest and most powerful houses in Etruria. She glanced at his profile--how did he see this very room? How did he see the rare objects all around him? If these were as nothing to him, then wasn't her birthday gift to him quite silly in comparison?

His profile gave nothing away, but she wondered. Oh, how she _wondered_. But that was part of Lord Pent's charm. Certainly she was drawn to him in part because of the mystery he presented.

As if he had noticed her gaze, she felt his attention become directed to her, though he only tilted his head ever so slightly in her direction. "Do you like it?" he asked, though there was a bit of a pause that she imagined hinted at an unseen vulnerability--was he seeking her approval, or was he asking just for the sake of polite conversation?

"It's so very grand, Lord Pent," she answered, squeezing his arm a little in a comforting gesture. "No wonder you were so busy! The planning for all of this must have taken ages!"

"Oh, do you think so?" The question's companion was a slight smile. "I agree. I had to sign so many bills over this. It seemed like every servant had something to contribute regarding this whole affair."

"You...didn't plan any of it?"

His smile disappeared. "This was not in my plans at all. Remember? I am just very accommodating, apparently."

"Ah." She glanced around. "Then, do you dislike it?"

"No, I can't say that. I just..." He shrugged. "It doesn't matter what I think. Now, we have the first dance, right? Shall we?"

Louise smiled as he led her to the center of the room, though she felt very conscious of all the eyes on them as the many guests to the party circled around them. She wouldn't be surprised if her mother had already found a chair along one of the walls and was once again enjoying her book, a thought that had her smiling more widely in unsuppressed amusement. That smile suffered a bit of a swoon when Lord Pent put one hand high upon the side of her ribcage, his fingers molding admirably over the circumference from her side to her back. The presence of such a solid touch unnerved her, even though they had practiced so dutifully in the past week and a half. She was slow to put her left hand on his shoulder now that she was vividly aware that he was right before her, that she would only have to lean forward to have her chest pressed up against him even with the flattening effect of her tightened corset. Her breathing became rather more shallow than she would prefer, or that was healthy for that matter, and she was only roused when she felt him take her free hand in his. His hand was warm, even through her glove, and she sent a desperate prayer to the heavens that she wouldn't begin to sweat through the thin white silk.

"Louise?" she heard him say. "Are you all right?"

She had been staring resolutely at the gold buttons of his princely coat, but at the sound of his voice she felt obligated to look up into his eyes. The concern on his face was enough to make her shake away the sudden nervousness that had overwhelmed her. "I-I'm fine, Lord Pent. And yourself?"

He made a face, one of such comical exasperation that she had to blink to see if her vision was playing a strange trick on her. Yet, it was still there afterward. "If we survive this dance, you needn't ask again. And if we don't--"

"Then we're exceptionally poor students, wouldn't you say so?"

Lord Pent's eyes widened in surprise. She was about to apologize for talking out of turn when he began to chuckle. "Exactly. Let's make Madame proud, even though she isn't here to see us tonight."

Louise nodded, her nervousness mostly controlled by a new rush of anticipation. "Yes, let's."

With a nod from Lord Pent, the music began.

-0-

Though he was far happier once they had finished their dance, Pent had to admit that dancing with Louise wasn't unpleasant. He was not a confident dancer, but they moved without embarrassing themselves and survived the experience. He watched as other couples joined on the floor to perform the Etrurian waltz, guiding Louise away from the twirling couples until they found freedom among the non-dancers, who had gathered in small groups to wile away the time with their gossip. Glancing down at Louise, he noticed the smile lingering on her profile and felt more...refreshed, he supposed. Leaning down to keep his words between them alone, he commented, "I suppose we've passed."

Louise laughed softly. "I was nervous, but I was also excited. I wouldn't mind doing that again."

_It seems you might get your chance sooner than you expected_, he thought with some wariness as two women approached them. The younger, an auburn-haired woman with a demure expression he couldn't trust, looked familiar; the other woman was definitely her chaperone, though he couldn't ascertain their relationship otherwise. "Ah, Lord Pent," started the chaperone, "you were magnificent, just as expected. You can make anyone look good through your superior talent."

Any pleasant feelings he had before had now vanished into the ether. "That certainly isn't true. I'm very grateful to my fiancée for her patience." He felt, through their linked arms, Louise start at the word he used to describe her--truth be told, he felt strange using it himself. "I'm not sure if you've met her, but this is Louise Émile."

"How do you do? It's quite amazing what they've done here, isn't it?" Louise said with the barest hitch. A look of annoyance crossed the auburn-haired woman's face, confirming Pent's suspicions.

"It's to be expected of the greatest noble house in Etruria, of course."

"Oh, yes," Louise agreed in a tone so serene Pent knew that, if spoken from another person, it would sound horribly insincere. "It's due to everyone's hard work within House Reglay."

The chaperone made an exasperated noise. "Anyway, we wanted to wish you well for your birthday, Lord Pent. On the behalf of my husband, Baron Tilley, I wish to express our greatest desire for your great family to thrive and prosper. Surely your father is looking down from heaven with all the fondness in his heart."

_If that's true, I think I've just been insulted_, Pent thought with a shade of dark humor. He attempted a smile. "I thank you for your kind words, Baroness."

"Now, perhaps you'll think this a poor gift, but my niece is an excellent dancer." Baroness Tilley laughed, the sound as sharp as broken glass. "You've actually seen her before, during that little event you held last spring. Doesn't her beauty capture your eye? With her maturity and talent, she would certainly do everything she can to please your noble personage."

For the second time of the night, he was incredibly grateful for his ability to hide his feelings from his face--he wasn't sure whether to simply be incredulous, or to actually follow the line of thought the baroness was shamelessly dangling in front of him and add dismay and embarrassment as well. The worst part was when he glanced at Louise and found her looking up at him so innocently, as if she expected him to accept the offer of...a _dance_. Straining himself to smile wider, he said, "Forgive me, but I have to decline. This party is actually a shared birthday celebration between Louise and myself, and it wouldn't do for me to stray from her side tonight."

"Oh, but I'm sure Miss Louise wouldn't mind," the auburn-haired woman spoke up, her smile appearing as tense as his own felt. Louise, agreeable girl that she was, nodded.

"Oh, not at--"

"I mind," he said as pleasantly as possible. "Good night." As gently as he could, he urged Louise to follow beside him as he turned around to return to the dance floor. She followed willingly enough, but when they found an empty area to get into position for the next dance he could feel her gaze upon him as he reached for her hand. "Louise," he began, a little too conscious of the pulse of his wrist pressed against the side of her...her chest as he put his right hand just underneath her arm, "I'd like to ask you a question."

"Certainly."

"Do you know what the word 'innuendo' means?"

The look on her face was akin to the same look that would bloom on his fellow students' faces whenever they were given a question they couldn't even begin to understand, let alone answer. There was almost always a sort of peace within that expression, before it inevitably settled into panic. In Louise's case, there was no panic, only a question lingering in her eyes. He did not want to answer it. "No," she said after a long moment of silence. "Is it a bad word?"

"No, it's--" He thought about it, and when the next song began to play he moved almost absently, aware of Louise's attention. "How about the phrase 'double entendre'?

"Oh, yes," she answered easily. "It's Estrucan, to say one thing while implying something else. My mother says one can't speak of Uncle Aramis' life without using double entendres, but I'm not sure why."

Pent raised an eyebrow at this. "Oh, well, I was just curious. But, you do realize the baroness and her niece were being unkind towards you?"

They moved with some grace in silence along with the other dancing couples for a few counts Pent realized he didn't need anymore before Louise spoke again. "I suppose they were, weren't they? But perhaps it's understandable, since I was the one who won the right to your hand. I think there are a lot of people who feel very insulted about that."

The wistful tone she was now speaking with touched off something within Pent, which he could only assume was a strong desire to cheer her up and keep her the bright, earnest girl he was learning to keep by his side. "That isn't something you should feel bad about. You won, so to speak, on your own merits. It's a subjective contest to begin with, and it doesn't lessen any of the other women to not be chosen by me." Louise pursed her lips at this.

"I wonder if that's really true."

"What do you mean?"

"You're a very important man, even if...even if you don't like what you do." That she remembered touched him, though he wasn't inclined to vocalize it, if only for his own sake. "The meaning your title holds is...it's important, so important. It's...to some people, it might be bigger than you." She looked away from him, her expression almost withdrawn. "That's sad."

"It is," he agreed. "What do you think I should do about it?"

She returned her gaze to him again, the color of her eyes not as vivid as it was during daylight. Suddenly, he wanted to add more candles to the ballroom. In a serious tone she said, "I think you should dance."

He blinked. "With that other woman?"

"Well..." Her teeth worried at her bottom lip, and for some reason the action made him feel strangely nostalgic--had he seen her do that before? "Actually, I'd rather you danced with me."

Such an honest girl, he thought with amusement as her cheeks seemed to darken, even if the candlelight made such suppositions suspect. _Sweet, honest Louise._ _Who could possibly not see her worth?_ But it wasn't like him to reveal his thoughts so openly, so all he said was, "I can do that," and led her as they twirled with the other couples on the floor.

-0-

It surprised her, it really did, that she could find herself relaxing in Lord Pent's hands as one dance melted into another, the passing time as fluid as the small rivers of her homeland. She had assumed that, once at the ball itself, she would find herself a clumsy, unsuitable mess of a girl, but this was patently untrue. It was also untrue that she would find herself transformed into a graceful butterfly of a woman, gliding across the floor with all the maturity and elegance of her fifteen years of age. In the end, whether or not she had the blessing of his hands upon her, she was still Louise.

She was happy.

After two more dances they left to seek refreshment, though she couldn't help but notice Lord Pent's wary gaze in case they might be ambushed again. His careful expression was a sight to behold on his features, more masculine than feminine but with a touch of beauty that made it difficult for her eyes to stray from his profile. Were he to grow out his neatly-cut hair, she wondered if he might be even more pleasing to the eye than he already was. Oh! Although she felt awkward thinking on these things overmuch, she could not say that she disliked it, exactly. One day, after all, she would find herself married to this man, tall and lean and seemingly unconscious of his looks, and she knew it was far better to find herself attracted to him than not. But--how should she deal with these feelings?

She found herself distracted from her ponderings when a woman approached them, her dark olive gown more appropriate to a married woman than one unmarried (yet far less matronly than her mother's style of dress). When Louise glanced at Lord Pent again, she found that his expression had lightened somewhat; apparently, he was already acquainted with this woman. "Countess Caerleon, it's a pleasure to meet you again," he greeted, something of a smile on his face.

"Lord Pent, I'm sure I've told you this once before, but please call me Nella," Countess Caerleon said. Louise tilted her head in confusion--where had she heard that name before? She hadn't more time to think on it when the countess focused on her. "That goes for you too, Lady Louise."

"Ah, well met," Louise said, straightening her posture. Although she knew she should not be surprised at being recognized, it made her happy.

"Your husband isn't here tonight?" Lord Pent asked, discreetly looking around the room. Lady Nella laughed.

"Oh, no, he's with the children. The nanny had time off and we hadn't realized until it was too late to arrange other help. He wishes the both of you well in the next year, of course."

"Ah. Please send him my regards."

The conversation seemed to die and Louise, who found herself liking Lady Nella, strove to resurrect it. "Lady Nella, do you have many children?"

Lady Nella looked mildly surprised. "Oh, I'd thought you'd already know. There's Estelle and Mamie, eleven and nine, as well as our resident lordling Nate, who is four. They're from my lord husband's previous marriage to my sister, who passed away in childbirth. Then there's dear Priscilla, who turns seven this coming March, who we took in as our own. Then there's this little one," she finished, patting her flat stomach. "He'll be out in late summer."

"My, how wonderful!" Louise exulted merrily. "It must be wonderful to have such a big family!"

Laughing, Lady Nella waved one hand in dissent. "Only when they stand still, which is never. But tell me, how is your mother?"

Louise stared at Lady Nella, then remembered. "Oh! You're Mother's 'dear Nella,' aren't you? Forgive me, I didn't remember! Mother is doing well, though I think she'll be happier once she's reunited with Father. I think she's been reading that book you sent her on behalf of the _Hôtel de Rhubarbe_."

"Ah, she's the same as always then." A fond look came over Lady Nella's charming visage, a round-cheeked beauty Louise was admiring more by the minute. "Tell her I said hello. Hmm...perhaps in the future you might like to begin a correspondence with me? You're even lovelier in person than your mother ever deigned to say."

"I'd love that," Louise responded with haste. "You're Mother's great friend, after all."

Lady Nella smiled, brushing one of her flame-red ringlets from her shoulder. "Wonderful. Expect a letter from me soon, dear. I'll leave you two alone now. Good night, Lord Pent, Lady Louise."

"Good night to you, Lady Nella," Louise seemed to say for the both of them, as she had seen Lord Pent nod out of the corner of her eye. They watched her walk to a group of guests and begin insinuating herself with them before Louise turned to him. "She's very nice, isn't she?"

"Hm, she is," he answered. "But why doesn't she go to your mother, instead of asking you to pass on her greetings? Your mother is very visible where she is."

Louise turned her head towards her mother's direction, where her mother was sitting in one of the chairs beside a table with a flower-filled vase and calmly reading. "My mother will not be acknowledged by anyone here," Louise stated. "Certainly not in friendliness. That will undoubtedly ruin their reputation." She looked at Lord Pent, who only showed a small frown at her words and nothing more. To this, she could only tug at his arm to capture his attention again. "I don't like it, but my mother knew the consequences. That only makes her all the more amazing to me. Please, try and think of it that way, too."

"Hm." He didn't look convinced. Shaking her head, Louise gestured to the dancing couples.

"Shall we dance again, Lord Pent?"

He smiled slightly at this and allowed her to pull him to the dance floor. Even if he remained unconvinced, Louise decided that it was enough for him to attempt to understand. The decisions of the past generation had granted rewards that stood ever tall now; so too would the consequences. She felt down to the marrow that it was unfair, though her mother, devastating cynic that she was, would only say that life was unfair.

Of course, to Louise that only meant that she should grab happiness wherever it presented itself, no matter what.

-0-

It was sometime after he realized that he had trouble feeling his feet except for the constant throb that went through them that Pent acceded to his body's wishes and escorted Louise from the floor. As he had no interest in repeating the same incident that had caused him to flee to the dance floor, he looked around until he noticed the doors that led to the balcony. "Would you like some fresh air, Louise?" he asked, hoping for an affirmative answer. When she nodded, one hand on her chest in a way that suggested she was trying to catch her breath, he gently guided her to the glass doors. He always kept a set of keys to every nook and cranny of the castle just like his father once had, and with them he opened the door with a thick-sounding _clok_.

"My, it's cold!" Louise announced as she left his side; he closed the door before following her. Although the night sky was moonless and the stars were hidden behind a thick cover of clouds, the room they had just departed gave him enough light to watch Louise cover her lower face with her hands.

"Do you want to go back inside?" He didn't think it was that cold, other than the slight wind that brushed past them just as he reached her, but that was the blessing of developed magical talent.

She shook her head, lowering her hands quickly as she folded them in front of her full skirts. "Oh, not at all. The cold is quite refreshing." Raising her hands, she placed them on the top of the balcony wall that separated her from the open sky as she peered over the rim. "Oh, I had no idea we were so high up!" she said, her voice high with what he imagined to be delighted fright. Standing next to her, he looked over and saw darkness.

"Can you really see the ground?" he mused aloud, somewhat skeptical, before he looked at her. With the light he could see a smile playing across her lovely features, but he couldn't see the color of her eyes at all. For some strange reason, he felt a curl of displeasure at that, as if her face lacked something just because he couldn't see one feature. But then, he reasoned, she had large eyes, and the color of her eyes was one of the most vivid sights he had ever witnessed. Then, he thought about it further. "I suppose I've never heard of a near-sighted archer," he admitted, amused when she grinned at his words. "You're enjoying yourself, I see." She giggled at this, a worthy answer if he ever heard one.

When she turned her head to look out into the sky, he could not help but admire her profile, with her small nose sticking out so cutely. The thought surprised him, if only because he was not in the habit of remarking upon, even to himself, the quality of women's noses. But he had known all along that Louise was a lovely girl, and seeing her tonight as the contours of her slender yet curvaceous body were revealed in her dress had caused him to realize that she was already a woman as far as her body's maturity was concerned. He hadn't considered it too much before, at least not to the extent that he would admit to himself, but now that this evidence was before him he knew he was always going to have this image of her in his mind, Reglay crest and all.

He watched her fold her arms on the rim of the balcony wall as she leaned forward; thankfully, as the top of her head barely reached his shoulder, he didn't have to worry about her leaning too far forward without being impeded by the wall. "Lord Pent," she said, her voice soft, "tonight has been so, so much fun." Turning her head to look at him meant that he could see her full smile aimed up at him. "I believe you've been enjoying yourself too?"

"Of course," he answered. "I have to admit that I was worried, but it all seems to have gone over well enough."

She laughed behind her hand. "Maybe even better than that."

Smiling, he said, "Perhaps."

Another breeze drifted past them, Louise shivering in its wake. He brought a hand up to his coat, wondering if he should offer it to her, if that was too intimate or if she would rather return to the ball; though he wanted to remain outside where there was just her and him and the darkness of a February night, he found acquiescing to her wants was far more agreeable than, say, his steward's. Louise rarely asked him for anything and she seemed to seek his approval, which was quite different from the demands placed on him by everyone else. But he supposed that was adulthood, and within the week he would be seventeen and undeniably a man in his own right. Touching his coat reminded him that he kept his gift to her with him, the small, thin package securely tucked inside. He wondered if he may as well give it to her now, considering that if he did so before she retired to bed her mother might hover over her. As much as he liked Lady Catherine, his accidental slip earlier probably had not endeared him to her.

That decided the matter for him. "Louise, it may be earlier than I had planned, but--"

"Lord Pent."

Her voice was urgent; when he looked at her he saw that she was facing the doors that led back into the ballroom. He looked, and through the glass panes he noticed that there was a crowd gathered further inside the room, their backs facing the balcony doors. Frowning, he reached for Louise's hand. "Interesting behavior for guests, I think," he tried to say in a light tone, but he was too worried for it to sound like much of a joke. Louise looked too concerned to even respond, and so he gave up on humor and began to head for the doors.

And he had been having such a good time, too.

Fifth Movement: Rhododendron  
(_danger_)

Everyone who met her and had the opportunity to spend a day or two around her never lacked the courage to inform her of her sensitive nature. As it was indeed true, Louise never found fault in the words, often agreeing with a smile. It was not a shameful thing; indeed, a part of her cherished that part of her personality. It drew her to others.

It had drawn her to Lord Pent.

However, it did have its downsides, and now she felt it most keenly as her stomach churned with discomfort and nervousness as she followed alongside Lord Pent, whose expression was even more blank than usual. They reached the outer boundary of the crowd with ease, as most of the guests had long since left the dance floor for whatever had interested them now, but it was quite another thing entirely to enter the crowd itself. Her diminutive stature made surpassing the crowd her only option, but Lord Pent seemed to be just tall enough to see what lay ahead; when she glanced at him there was a most strange expression set on his face, one she had never seen from him during her few times with him. She heard a low voice tinged with anger, a man's, then another voice.

Her mother's.

Louise flinched, then looked at Lord Pent. _Why won't he move forward?_ she thought. _What's happening? What's wrong with Mother?_ She tugged at his hand in silent pleading, drawing his attention. When he saw the look on her face his eyes widened before he looked ahead again, his profile filled with purpose. "Pardon me," he said, and it was enough for the people blocking their way to move aside with all haste. As she walked forward she gripped his hand, steeling herself for what she would see--whatever it was, she could bear it.

The voices, the unknown man's as well as her mother's, grew more hostile as Louise neared them. There were so many people watching this, whatever it was, that she felt humiliated on behalf of her mother, that intensely proud woman who kept her affairs to herself when she could help it. Her worry rising within her like a soaring arrow, she looked to Lord Pent again, wondering desperately what he saw. He did not look happy, but suddenly his eyes widened and he hurried forward and Louise, panicking, followed his gaze--

There was only that man's back and a glimpse of her mother's small hand as it rose up and hit the man's face with all the resounding fury of thunder.

Louise turned her head away from the scene as if she had been scalded. All had gone silent save for the soft strains of music, almost disrespectful in the moment.

If anyone recovered first, it was the man who had been violently manhandled by her mother. Louise saw him through the corner of her eye, difficult as it was for her to face the scene before her, as he straightened his back and turned around. The man was not familiar to her, not his chestnut brown hair nor his dark eyes, but when his gaze fell upon her something dark and unbidden crossed his face and she cringed further, too confused to do much more than act on instinct. This strange man strode up to Lord Pent and paused there, evidently telling him something that did not appeal to his interest; Lord Pent's expression grew grave, then he seemed to flinch before turning to the man, who was already making his way through the crowd. Many of those watching the confrontation seemed to waver before falling away, with some of those clinging to that unfamiliar man's side. Conversely, her mother was left alone, and when Louise raised her head and her gaze met her mother's, she saw something there that should never belong on her mother's face. That stricken expression with that shame lingering in her mother's eyes--she hated it as with as much vigor as Louise had ever cared to expend.

That look didn't belong on her mother's face no matter what she had done!

"Mother," Louise started, reaching out for her. Her mother stood still, even when Louise put her hands on her mother's narrow shoulders and squeezed, trying her hardest to give her mother all the support she could. "Mother," she started again, but her mother was not looking at her but instead past her.

"Please forgive me, my lord," her mother said, her voice strong and without a waver--so like her mother, except for the words. "I was unforgivably careless and acted rudely towards your guest."

"I don't care about that," said Lord Pent in a voice just as loud. "How are you feeling?"

Her mother smiled, lips thin and pale. "I think I will retire to my room now. I have shamed you enough." Louise stared at her mother, uncomprehending.

"If that is your wish, please do as you like. But you will be missed." Louise glanced at Lord Pent; his voice was loud, his tone even--he was obviously telling the truth. But her mother, her dear mother, only pulled away from Louise until she was left holding nothing at all.

"Louise, stay by Lord Pent's side until you wish to return to your room," said her mother in a low voice. "It will be easier for you if you don't stray from him. And...I'm sorry." With those words, her mother turned and left the room, not even remembering to pick up her discarded book from the chair she had adopted as her own. All Louise could do was stand in place, the feeling in her chest all wrong for tonight, all wrong for the fun she and Lord Pent had shared, absolutely all wrong!

And the worst part was, she had no idea what had brought this change about. All she could do now was detest it with the utmost impotence, because it would forever leave a bitter taste in her mouth whenever she recalled it in her mind.

The night was effectively over.

Sixth Movement: Camellia  
(_gratitude_)

Pent escorted Louise to her room in silence. Earlier he had felt refreshed; now he felt worn and tired. Their camaraderie had fled, perhaps to return at a later date, and Louise kept her head bowed and hidden from his gaze as she clutched her mother's book to her chest. He knew that he had no right to intrude on her feelings, and even if he did he couldn't begin to form the right words for--for what, exactly?

He exhaled softly, his mind drawing a blank. That said it all.

They reached the rooms she had been staying in with her mother and their maids, Louise by the door as she dipped her body in a limp curtsy. "Thank you for tonight, Lord Pent," she said, her eyes not quite meeting his face. "I had a wonderful time."

Pent let the slight lie pass without comment, more perturbed by her lack of eye contact. "Louise, I..." he started before realizing he still had no idea as to what he could say. At least when he was quiet at the balcony he felt far less anxious. "Oh, I have your present," he remembered. Louise looked confused in the low light of the hallway, then her expression brightened--a far cry from the girl he was getting used to, but better than before.

"I have your gift too, in my room. Let me go find it--I'll be right back!" With growing exuberance she opened the door and entered, leaving the door ajar behind her. He removed his present to her from the confines of his coat, studying the plainly-wrapped object with some anxiety.

_I hope she likes it_, he thought. _The first thing that came to my mind when I found it at that store was that it'd be perfect for her, but I may have been too hasty in my decision. I was a little desperate at that time._

He barely heard the muffled footsteps that marked her return before he found himself staring at her wide-eyed gaze. "Here, Lord Pent," she said, holding with both hands a small square box towards his face. "I, I truly hope you'll like it." Taking it from her, he placed the rectangular wrapped gift in her small hands without a word, mainly because he really had no idea what to say at a time like this other than the requisite words of gratitude. That, and he was curious to see what Louise would think a 'perfect' gift to him would be; after all, it wasn't shaped like a book.

Untying the thin ribbon used to hold the box and lid together, Pent lifted the lid and looked inside. It seemed to be a piece of cloth resting within, and it was with some bemusement that he put the box on top of the lid and took out the cloth with his free hand. He heard the crinkling sound of the paper wrapping being removed from the gift he had given to Louise just as he unfolded the cloth, her small sound of happiness coinciding with his amusement as to what he had discovered.

It was an embroidered personal napkin, the blue cloth similar to the shade House Reglay had claimed as its dominant color centuries ago. Gold stitches formed an inner line a few centimeters from the hem, and in one corner she had created a passable facsimile of his family's crest. Though some of the stitches were uneven, he could clearly see the effort she had expended to create this gift for him, and he was touched that she would prefer to make something with her own hands rather than to purchase a gift. It made him feel as if the value of their gifts were unbalanced; at least, until he looked at Louise and saw the wide smile on her face.

"Lord Pent." Her voice wavered with emotion as she held up the packet of stationery he had bought for her. "This paper is so thick and smooth, and the color is so pleasing to the eye. It must have cost so much..."

"Its value is nothing compared to your words," he interjected, before wondering if what he had just said sounded really good or really manufactured. Judging by her shocked expression, it was up to debate.

"You really like my letters?" she asked, her tone hesitant. He nodded, and then wondered if he had done something wrong when she lowered her head. "That makes so happy, I'm really..." When she trailed off, Pent couldn't help but grow slightly concerned.

"...Are you all right?"

"I am!" she announced with new vigor as she lifted her head. "And you, do you like your gift? I've been working on it since late last year, but I don't quite have the steadiest hand for embroidery. It...doesn't offend you, does it?"

He almost laughed at her now shy demeanor, solely out of amazement rather than anything negative on his behalf; she spent months working diligently on this gift, and she thought he would be offended? What was wrong with the world, when people were more apt to be nervous rather than proud over their fruits of labor? "I like it very much," he assured her. "It's quite impressive. I had no idea you did embroidery."

"I prefer the bow to the needle, but when I got into the mindset for it I enjoyed it more than I thought I could." She looked away for a moment, then seemed to nod to herself before returning her attention to him. "I know you're still uncomfortable with the role you now command, but I think you should be proud of it. You don't have to be your father to be a good Count Reglay, you...you just have to be Lord Pent."

"Really?" he mused. She smiled at him.

"Yes, absolutely."

Her words were lovely sentiments, quintessentially Louise in how they appealed to him, but of course his doubts remained. He took care to shield them from her, unwilling to disappoint her estimation in him; for now, he decided a change in discussion was necessary. "Well then, Louise, tomorrow I should have more free time. Would you like the cake for breakfast?"

She looked so horrified at the thought that he could do nothing but laugh; her pouting face only made it easier for him. "Oh, must you really tease me about that?"

"You looked so depressed at dessert that I couldn't help but remember."

Crossing her arms, she looked resolute. "For that, Lord Pent, tomorrow let me instead show you the cooking skills of a lady of Alloway."

He paused. "You can cook?"

"Well," she said with a smile, "you'll just have to see. Good night, Lord Pent."

"...Good night," he responded, wondering if he had just been threatened. She returned to her rooms, the door clicking shut behind her, and he found himself looking down at the embroidered cloth napkin for a moment before walking back to his own room, absently tucking the napkin into his coat as he did so.

-end-

Thank you for reading! Please don't be afraid in commenting if you have something to say; I really like reading everyone's thoughts. The next story will be delayed while I go back and edit the previous stories--I know I wrote the first three stories a year ago, but they already look a little sad now.

_Hôtel de Rhubarbe_: Between the 16th-18th centuries in France, many salons appeared; these were places where educated men and women gathered to discuss literature, art, politics, and other such things. While the word salon is in reference to the room in a house where these meetings were held, as the trend grew they began to be held in larger premises, and with that came more extravagant names. Hence, Hôtel de Rhubarbe. The Victorian flower meaning of rhubarb is 'advice'; this particular salon is for aspiring writers to receive input on their manuscripts.


	9. Flower Tea and Salad Days

Bouquet

(C) Intelligent Systems and Nintendo

-0-

Flower Tea and Salad Days: Coral Honeysuckle, Clove Pink, White Hollyhock  
(_the color of our fates--what dignity we found through female ambition_)

Pent suppressed a yawn as he headed for the library. Without Louise, who had gone to the kitchen after breakfast with her sister-maid to fulfill her promise (or threat, he still wasn't quite sure) of baking a cake, he found himself gravitating towards the one room in the castle where he could relax. Because of the planning for the ball, he was behind on his schedule to finish the second draft of his paper, which had been roundly thrashed not due to his dispassionate theorizing of light magic's system like he had expected, but rather for his mediocre analysis on elder magic. He had been spending the last few months researching what little available material there was on the shamanic magic, but he still felt he hadn't enough knowledge yet--shamans kept to themselves, and what information there was had been brought by anima users, complete with their prejudices.

He had expected the library to be empty when he arrived, but much to his surprise there was already someone there. Lady Catherine sat at one of the long tables in the center of the room, a pot of tea in front of her as she paged through a book. When she glanced up at him, he could not help but feel uncomfortable; last night had been on his mind for much of the morning, not the least because she hadn't attended breakfast. Their last interaction, her show of making apologies so he could save face and his deliberate refusal of them because he did not want or need to be protected in such a way, bothered him; consequently he wasn't sure what to say beyond, "Lady Catherine, good morning."

There was a smirk on her face that he didn't appreciate as she said, "Would you really consider it such? Then, good morning to you."

"We missed you at breakfast."

"I wasn't hungry."

Mentally sighing, he asked, "Would you like me to leave you alone?"

It was her turn to give him a careful look before she shook her head. "No, I think we both know that you deserve answers, and I'd prefer you received them from me rather than another who hasn't my unique position."

Without a word, Pent sat across from her. A bright, flowery aroma wafted from Lady Catherine's teacup, but the scent did nothing to calm his nerves. On the contrary, he felt suddenly anxious, as if what he was about to hear was not meant for his ears no matter what she had said about his deserving answers. He waited for her to place a ribbon in her book and set it aside before he finally asked, in as neutral a tone as he could manage, "What do you have to tell me?"

She looked at him. Her eyes were exactly like Louise's and their facial structure similar, but there was a shrewdness that sharpened her gaze and flattened the corners of her lips, something essentially and coldly noble. To think of that expression on a face that could well be Louise's in twenty years felt like a perversion, but he did not look away. By instinct, he knew she detested weakness.

After a moment, a corner of her lips rose in a sort of mocking smirk, but he had the feeling it wasn't aimed at him. "That man I slapped last night is Duke Benet, Alfred Minart, Knight General of Etruria. He is ten years older than me, and when I was seventeen years old we were betrothed to marry."

Pent let out the breath he hadn't even been aware he was holding. "Ah."

"Ah, indeed," she said dryly. "To understand this story, you have to understand the life I lived when I was at the height of my power. As the only child of the highest of the titled generals at the time, I was privileged beyond all others save for the royal family. My lifelong friendship with Hellene enabled me to be her lady-in-waiting in all but name far before I was old enough to accept the responsibility. In that generation, women were the brightest stars and we forced everyone to accept our opinions from the arts to politics, or as much of the latter as there can be in a monarchy, and of those women who played their parts in the salons I was of the most influential." She sighed. "The study of magic and the Church's increased power have made their resurgence now, of course, and these are sadder times for it. Social conditions, the _literati_ I was a part of before my fall...these things have fallen in importance. I mourn the death of that age every day."

Unsure of how to respond due to his devotion to being a magic-user, Pent kept quiet. Lady Catherine seemed to notice, her smile growing wider. "Forgive the reminiscence, Lord Pent. All women mourn their youth. Despite my sterling reputation, my father thought me to lack the worth of the seed used to create me. All he had ever wanted was a son to properly carry on his legacy, and I, who looked so much like his devoted wife, was the reminder twice over that he had failed at this one necessity. At that time, one of his favorite subordinates was our darling duke, who of course had not earned that rank at that time, and although dear Alfred was loved like a son they of course did not share the blood necessary to bind them legally. My role became twofold: to marry the man who would become the next knight general, and to bear a proper heir so that my father could complete his legacy." Lady Catherine laughed behind one hand bearing two simple gold rings before she took a sip of tea, her eyes still glittering with amusement as she looked at him. "But of course, just as all stories of this type go, I was already deeply in love with another."

Pent was drawn into her story, enough to find it hardly inappropriate in inquiring, "When did this happen?"

"Hellene often liked to rest in the countryside, and I as her confidant always followed her. My husband has been a dear friend of Count Alloway since they were children, so we often spent time together." Her smile lessened, though Pent could plainly see the fondness on her face. "I can't say when it happened, but I was surprised by the intensity of my feelings. That he felt the same way has always been my greatest blessing. Unfortunately we could never be, as Gérald had inherited little more than a house and a few fields and I was betrothed to a man whose meteoric rise through the military ranks was proving he would become one of the most powerful men in Etruria. That he was horribly debauched and had already succumbed to my father's belief that I was nothing more than a tool to be used to beget legitimate heirs did not dampen anyone's views of him. I was trapped, and there seemed to be no way out."

"But that was not the ending."

"Oh no, it certainly wasn't," she said with a shake of her head. "Gérald, idealistic and sentimental fool that he's always been, stubbornly maintained that he would marry me and give me the life I was accustomed to if only I would come to him. I resisted because I had so many things in my life that I wanted to cling to my side. However, when my father told me that I would marry on my eighteenth birthday whether I brought myself to the altar under my own power or not, I decided to take a chance." With a grin, she quickly finished her cup of tea. "Imagine this, Lord Pent. You know that the chances of your success are just about nil, but you have determined to go ahead anyway as you have nothing to lose. You dare not tell your friends your plans, knowing that they would prevent your flight. Even your dearest friend has done nothing but disapprove of the one you love. You know that yours will become the most reviled name in all of the kingdom. Yet, there always is someone that can be depended upon, because people with integrity have always come through at the worst of times. Now tell me, who is this person?"

_Not family, for they would certainly agree with her father. Her friends are out because they either carry more loyalty to her position than to herself or believe she would be making a terrible mistake. Loyalty... _When the answer came to Pent, he nodded slowly, a smile urging itself onto his lips. "A servant."

Lady Catherine grinned, her face nearly identical to her daughter's own with the action. "Who else? A new girl had come in from Aquleia and had been put to work as a scullery maid. There was something about her that was different from all the other help, not only in the way she approached her duties without complaint but also in her lack of interest in putting her pride in the fact that she was a servant of a highly-titled noble's home. I made her my chambermaid to keep her close, then I discreetly befriended her so that no one would become suspicious. When I asked her to serve only me, she agreed. We put our plan of a great escape into motion immediately, for my birthday was just after the winter. It was a simple plan--we took one of my father's horses and raced down to Alloway in the dead of winter." Shaking her head, she commented, "We were very lucky it was an unusually mild winter. Gérald and I married the same night we arrived, and by the time my father had arrived with a group of his most trusted men we were already quite properly husband and wife."

Pent raised his hand to stop her, unsure he had heard correctly. "Pardon, but this was an armed group?"

"Yes, of course," she answered patiently. "To say my father was displeased would be a gross understatement. My dearest, as always the greatest believer in the pure strength of his emotions, met them with a sword." Covering her face, she moaned in obvious embarrassment at the memory as Pent's eyes widened in disbelief. "I even told him that my father's favorite weapon was a lance, but did he listen to me and at least use an axe? No, that would be sensible, wouldn't it? Of course he was going to lose either way, but I would've at least liked it had he listened to me. If it weren't for the fact that Aramis showed up with his own soldiers, we would not be discussing this today."

"Your husband is amazing," Pent commented. Lady Catherine scowled.

"Are you mad? Sentimentality means nothing when you're dead!" Crossing her arms, she shook her head. "Men are such...just because you have the will to say, 'I'll solve it!' doesn't mean you can forfeit common sense and carry the wrong weapon into battle! Just because his father had used it to fight off pirates from Missur doesn't mean that it'll work when fighting off your new bride's enraged father...sometimes I just don't know about him." Despite the harsh words there was an undercurrent of exasperated fondness, much like the sort some of his teachers spoke with when he would opt not to return to Reglay for the long summer or winter breaks, that made Pent smile.

"But now you have your family. I see why Louise always speaks of you with such pride."

"Does she? Well, she's always been the respectful sort." But Lady Catherine was smiling as she said those words. "And you're quite kind. I'm sure your mother would've been pleased."

Slightly surprised by the sudden mention of his mother, Pent took a moment to compose himself before he spoke again. "That's right, you knew my mother. Would you mind telling me a bit about her?"

Lady Catherine's expression grew somewhat wary, and she made herself busy pouring herself another cup of tea before she said, "I did know your mother, but I'm not sure you want to know her as I knew her."

Pent frowned at this vague answer. "Could you explain?"

"I wouldn't like to insult the dearly departed. She had her qualities as she did her faults, but I knew the latter better than the former."

"Then, would you say she was a bad person?"

"You ask that so bluntly, I wonder if you care either way."

"Well, I didn't know her," he pointed out. "I don't have a single recollection of her, and my father rarely spoke of her when we did see each other."

"You weren't close to your lord father either," Lady Catherine observed. Pent nodded once. "Who raised you?"

"From my mother's death to the age of eight, I was passed around by my mother's relatives. When my maternal grandfather died, I was returned to Reglay, then sent to school in Aquleia." Said like this, he wondered if he was being too unemotional. It was the life he had lived, but at the same time it was nothing more than a series of footnotes, pushed aside so as to not clutter the page unnecessarily.

"Then you became a mage?"

"Then I studied anima magic, found it to my liking, and with the kindness of my father was allowed to transfer into a proper magic academy."

She nodded, taking a sip of her tea. "Then you became Count Reglay."

Pent said nothing.

"She was Sylphine Margot Lezzina, youngest daughter of Viscount Possa, one of the lords of the northeastern border we share with Ilia. We called her Sylvie to her face, and far worse behind her back. She believed herself to be deserving of the best of Etruria, attempting again and again to gain Hellene's favor, especially if it meant that I should take a fall in the process." Lady Catherine looked at him knowingly over the brim of her teacup. "Are you sure you want to know what I knew?"

"This is going to be painful, isn't it?" he mused out loud. Lady Catherine laughed, and with that his fate was sealed. "Tell me what you will."

"When I first met her, she had decided she was going to be the greatest actress the stage ever knew, but since she couldn't sing well she was banished to the smaller theaters. Musicals are always popular, even in these times, but the popularity of the mere spoken word ebbs and flows with the talent behind the script. Because of the rise of the _literati_ and the salons, all levels of theater were very popular." Shrugging, Lady Catherine said, "Your mother was a star at the age of sixteen, two years older than myself and one year older than Hellene. However, your mother was also noble by birth, and so she knew that she was destined for greater things than the stage. Once she had befriended us, she had already determined that she was going to become royalty itself. I won't tell you about the passes she made at our good king at the time, when he was just a thirteen-year-old prince."

Warmth invaded Pent's face. "That would be for the best."

"Right. Anyway, when your mother was seventeen, your father began to cast about for eligible brides to compete for his favor--unwillingly, from what I heard at the time. He had originally intended to adopt his younger brother's firstborn son as the Reglay heir, but his brother, sister-in-law, and their two daughters died from influenza, leaving him at the age of thirty-nine as the last Martel."

"Why didn't he marry before?"

"It's not the same case as a certain other unmarried count and his suspicious relationship with his knight captain, I'll say that much," Lady Catherine commented wryly. "He just didn't seem interested and never went to a party if he could help it."

For perhaps the first time in his life, Pent felt a bond of commiseration between his father and himself. "Is that so?"

"Oh, yes. Since by then your mother had realized that the prince was far too religious for her Secular Eliminean sensibilities, being from the northeast as she was, she was much more interested when she landed on the short list as a possible bride to your father. She forced me to help her practice, and I have to admit that her performance that day was easily the most impressive."

"You were there?" he asked, surprised.

Pausing, Lady Catherine looked at him. "Hellene asked me to witness it for her, as she was busy with other things." A smile began to widen on her face. "Why, did you think I was a contestant? Because it's true I was also on the list, but my father declined in favor of his own plans."

"...Ah."

"She won, married your father three months later, and bore you a little under a year before I made my infamous escape."

Something bothered him, and it made him hesitant to speak it aloud. "What did she do after she learned of your actions?"

"...Hmm." Though she was smiling, Lady Catherine's head was turned away from his gaze. "She would tell everyone for years afterward that she had always known that I was a traitor to my noble heritage and that she would have revealed all had she known of my plans, all the while making sure that no one ever knew that it was with my help that she won the right to be called Countess Reglay. She worked far too hard to get to her position to stumble when it came to me."

Disgusted, Pent crossed his arms as he leaned back in his chair, knowing that no defensive body language could shield him from his mother's actions in her life. "So that is the kind of woman my mother was. I have to say that, while I never really idealized her image, I'm sorry she has fallen even lower than my neutral estimation had placed her. On her behalf, I would like to apologize to you for her actions--"

"Oh, kindly shut up," she bit out, irritation plain on her face. He stared at her, bewildered by this sudden change. "Lord Pent, I told you I didn't like her very much. Would you fall so easily for bias in your duties to your county? I didn't like her because she tried to sever my lifelong friendship with Hellene. I also didn't like her because she was always the most beautiful and charismatic woman in the room. She didn't like me because I would cut her down with my wit and knowledge in an instant simply because I could, not only because I stood in the way of her earlier ambitions. The best we ever became were as cautious allies. If you went down to Aquleia's theaters and asked around, you would get a far different image of her than the one I've painted.

"The lesson here is this, Lord Pent: a woman's ambition will always score her a certain amount of hatred. Whatever a woman does can and will be dissected, measured against a man's, and discarded as being without worth. Where I am hated, a man would be pitied for being caught in an 'inferior' woman's clutches. Where your mother's actions have shamed you, a man's would have been lauded for protecting the reputation of himself and those around him. That is the price women pay for clinging to the dignity we desire as thinking, feeling beings. This hypocrisy rules Etruria, and I suspect it is not much different everywhere that is not Ilia--though far better to be us than them. Hate your mother's actions if you must, but don't disregard your mother entirely. If anything, disregard the rules of this world, who would make us a nation of cowards too drunk on our own reputation as Saint Elimine's homeland to hold onto our integrity and principles. Hate that, but not your mother. Never your mother."

In the face of Lady Catherine's passionate words, Pent had only one question in return. "What exactly are you asking of me?" She raised one palm upward, her other hand over her heart in a gesture so exotic to him it might as well be meaningless.

"What else but for you to be the best man you can be?"

He studied her carefully. There was something about her that was almost frightening, something she was holding back from him. He wondered if it was the true Lady Catherine, the one who hadn't accepted her fate with as much grace as Louise had insinuated. This woman had been pushed out of the social circles she had known and perhaps she didn't miss many of the people who still lingered in them, but it was clear she missed her power to effect change, her relevance in the world. Now her time had passed, but she still remained. All she could do was instill that same desire for change in her own daughter--but did it take root? Pent wasn't sure; based upon her own descriptions of her unflinchingly sentimental husband, Louise resembled her father more in personality. Did that frustrate Lady Catherine? Somehow, he didn't think so, though he couldn't say why. He really couldn't say much about the interactions between any parent and child, not knowing too much about it himself.

Besides, he had seen what she looked like when she was frustrated. Just before she had slapped Duke Benet, he had seen her face and he didn't believe anyone could hide emotions like those. He knew he couldn't, not if he had any reason to become that angry.

"Can I ask you one more question, Lady Catherine?"

"What is it?"

"What did the duke say to you that made you react in such a manner?"

"Hm, that depends. What did he tell you afterward?"

_Heed my words and cast away that poison fruit as soon as you can. Not a person in this room would look down on you for it. After all, the daughter of a whore is still a whore at heart._

Pent frowned. "Nothing important."

"Then, same here." Lady Catherine sighed. "Be careful, though, as he's a petty man. If he's given you advice and you decide not to regard it, he will always remember that as a personal insult and he will make you suffer for it."

"Sounds pleasant," he remarked, about to say more when the door opened behind him.

"Ah, there you are!"

He turned at Louise's voice, then had to keep himself from laughing at her appearance. She was dressed as she normally was, more concerned with comfort than to attract, with the addition of an overlarge apron and thick protective gloves on both hands. It was obvious that her maid, who stood at the door as Louise strode forward, had to open the door for her. Lady Catherine's suppressed groan reached his ears; this was probably not within her lessons to make Louise into a proper lady.

That was just fine with him.

"Have you finished?" he asked. Louise nodded eagerly.

"You'll be very impressed! It's a cinnamon and walnut cake, since that was all that was available, and we made some vanilla icing to decorate it." She looked past him, her smile widening. "Mother, won't you have a slice with us?"

"I really prefer brioche, but your cooking ability has become quite good. Go on ahead, we'll catch up to you."

After Louise and her maid left the room, Pent was about to follow when suddenly he felt a hand clamp upon his shoulder from behind. "Ah, I almost forgot. Lord Pent, about last night and my daughter's 'Reglay crest,' as you put it..."

Today, Pent knew that he was privileged to receive a number of lessons from Lady Catherine. Many of them he would still need to take the time to assimilate, but as far as the last one went, he would probably never forget it--not even after he was married.

-end-

When I think about it, between her conversation with Pent in part one of The Budding Garden and her 'female ambition' lecture here, Catherine is an incredibly fair woman. I really enjoy writing characters who don't need to wield weapons or magic to be forceful, strong people, especially in a world like Elibe (and Etruria specifically) where we don't get to see many characters like that by necessity of the game mechanics. Doesn't it make you wonder how your everyday NPC noblewoman lives if she doesn't even have the magic to even be a troubadour? Though, I guess that didn't stop Clarine...

Regarding Pent's mother: I hate the Sainted Dead Mother trope. I don't know if that's the name for it, but we all know what I mean, right?

Thank you very much for reading; the next story will be posted a week from today, on the 19th. Please, feel free to question or comment on anything in the story that catches your eye!


	10. Fields of Gold

Bouquet

(C) Intelligent Systems and Nintendo

-0-

Fields of Gold: Yellow Violet  
(_rural happiness_)

Underneath the morning sun, Louise drifted.

It was not the easy float of a midday daydream, like so many she had indulged in rather than taking conscious part in one miserable instrumental practice after another. No, no such thing as that, not as she stalked through the large grove past the border of her family's personal lands, her bow drawn and an arrow ready to fly at the sight of her prey. Here, now, she moved as if she had always found nothing but the greatest comfort inside her still-growing body, using every bit of her meager human senses to explore the grove, magnificent world-within-a-world that it was, as myriad streams of light poured through the canopy. Yet for the moment there was only the sure, creeping footsteps of the rest of her hunting party, all archers to a man (and herself, the lone woman). Though March was a good month for such indulgences--called such in the agricultural domain that was Alloway County--the attentions of most of hardworking folk lay to the planting fields and its potential bounties. However, when she had called for all those interested in an early morning hunt, enough came that she felt at least one of their party would be lucky. A few had been, but not her, not yet.

Her time would come, she was sure of it. There was to be a feast tonight and she would bring home a worthy bird for it.

The light rippling through the canopy sent drops of gold speckling the dark ground; Louise concentrated on it not for the beauty of the sight, but for something more practical. Her time came when a series of dots far away became disrupted, the light revealing a bright red wattle wobbling to and fro under one eye with comical ease--a male pheasant on a morning stroll. Steadying herself, Louise raised her bow, her narrowed eyes unable to focus on anything but the jiggling flaps, so unnaturally red when surrounded by the new light green leaves and grass bursting forth to celebrate the coming spring.

The wobbling stopped. Louise fired.

It seemed to her the cry of the pheasant was unnaturally loud; as she walked up to the bird she could see his bulk weakly thrashing about, the shaft of the arrow sticking out of its breast. He died without her needing to pull out her knife and she was glad for it, for although she found pleasure in the act of hunting, to actually reach for the creature and feel his body spasm as she slit his throat was still difficult to endure. The arrow that flew from her bow was her and not her, the degree of separation a comfort still necessary--was she weak for it? As she pulled the arrow from the bird, unflinching from the gore that spurted from his chest afterward, she wondered if she was being unrealistic in her mindset. Her hands, now bare for the messy duty ahead, worked quickly to dress the game bird, removing the viscera inside its rib cage but opting to keep the feathers untouched until at that time she found herself home once again. After she had finished her grisly duty Louise put the pheasant's heavy body into a sack she had tucked inside her quiver, dumping a canteen of water over her bloodied hands to clean them off before she put on her gloves again and left the grove with her catch.

It seemed that more of her group had gotten lucky within as well, and as they showed each other their catches and congratulated each other she wondered if anyone else had the same reservations as herself. Though she knew quite a few of the other hunters, she couldn't imagine sharing her concerns with any of them. It had nothing to do with looking weak on her part; seeing the other hunters joke with each other showed her that, to them, this was a time of camaraderie and fun after the lean winter, and she felt it not her place to depress anyone with her personal thoughts.

And yet, with all that, she grinned as she revealed her catch and saw the surprise on those faces she was unfamiliar with, taking pride in knowing that she had proved her worth to all of them, both young and old. "It's a bird fit for a lord," one man congratulated her.

She nodded, her smile so wide she felt as if she would split apart from her happiness. "I truly hope so."

-0-

It was a perturbed Pent who endured the bouncing of the carriage as it traversed the narrow roads of Alloway; though the uncomfortable ride was not the origin of his poor mood, it was certainly doing its part in prolonging it. The true cause, as he was beginning to believe all problems connected to himself began, was in Reglay. It was such a minor incident, and yet...

_A good lord knows everything within his borders_, he remembered his father having remarked once. _If he lets himself be ignorant of even the smallest motes, he has no one to blame but himself when there is trouble._

Pent drummed his fingers against the side of the carriage door, the polished wood causing his fingertips to slide. _Would that also include the thoughts of his servants? Should I hold myself sovereign over that last frontier as well? Is Reglay worth that?_ He was sure the answer was an empathetic 'no,' but with the suspicion that had taken root in his mind he couldn't help but wonder if he would be risking something dire if he should continue believing it. All he knew was that there had been a peculiar sense of wrongness that pervaded the incident, which went like this:

The day before he left for the two-day journey to Alloway, he had accompanied his steward to the clerks' workroom when he had noticed the auburn-haired clerk who had approached him during the mad rush of preparations for the ball. Normally he would not have remembered the aborted meeting, but the financial ledgers the clerk had brought with him had impressed themselves in Pent's mind, and so it was natural for his curiosity to rise when he saw the man again, especially as the clerk had never returned for a proper meeting. Once Pent had realized that the clerk with his head down at his desk and surrounded by heavy law books was the very same one, he had approached the desk and tapped it twice. The clerk had looked up and given him a wide-eyed stare more reminiscent of fear than surprise--Pent remembered that distinctly, because he had wondered if he was an even poorer lord than he had considered himself to be if his own servants were frightened of him.

"Excuse me," he had said, "I remembered you had something you wished to discuss with me earlier, but I was unable to accommodate you at the time. I'm to leave tomorrow, but perhaps when I return..." But he could not finish his sentence, as the clerk did something rather unusual.

The clerk had put a finger over his own lips.

_He wants me to be silent? But why?_ Pent had looked around automatically, wondering who was not supposed to listen to them. That was when he saw his steward approaching them. "Milord, is something the matter?" he had asked in his usual officious manner.

Pent had shaken his head in response. "No, not at all." After glancing at the clerk, whose face had seemed to pale with the steward's proximity, Pent had made a quick decision. "I was mistaken, that's all."

"Mistaken? With young Raike here?" His steward hadn't looked convinced. "There's no one else here with his particular hair color."

"Oh, is that so? I couldn't tell."

"You...couldn't tell?"

"Well, perhaps I'm growing colorblind." Both the steward and the clerk had stared at him for that one. "No, forgive me, it was just a joke. I really did make a mistake." To the clerk Raike, he had said, "Forgive my error. It seems I've interrupted your work."

Raike had responded with, "Oh no, milord, not at all," but Pent had seen the relief on the clerk's face before he had led the steward away with more distractions, and as a consequence he had spent his trip dwelling over the incident. It was obvious the clerk had wanted to tell him something, but not within sight of Borenze--why? The best Pent could figure out was that it had something to do with the steward, but then, why the financial records? What possible reason could there have been to bring those as well, unless something in them implicated his steward in negligence at best, a crime at worst? And, they were from before his ascension, which bothered Pent immensely because that meant it had something to do with his father as well. Something his father had not noticed?

_Impossible_, Pent thought as he closed his eyes. _If it had to do with Reglay, Father would have seen it._ But it was true that his father had declined rapidly within the last year of his life. Perhaps his facilities had been failing even before then.

The carriage rolled to a stop. Glancing at the door, Pent pushed away his growing frustration. No matter how much he thought about it, nothing mattered until he had solid proof one way or the other. Today he fully intended to enjoy his time with Louise and her family.

When the door of the carriage was opened, he exited and took in the sight of the house before him. Not only was it smaller than Castle Reglay--which made sense, he supposed--it was much smaller than even the manor his family kept in the countryside. It was not built in the grandiose styles his fellow nobility preferred, with columns around the perimeter and statues perching on bits of roof sticking out here and there like a hazard zone in the making. Instead, it was a two-story house built with light gray stonework, a dark gray sloping roof, and tall multi-paned windows on both floors, giving it a rustic and sturdy quality. A small yet growing flower garden curled around the left corner of the house while a little grove protectively loomed over the right side and partially behind the house did their parts in adding a quaint, lived-in feeling. It was suited for genteel country nobility, an unobtrusive home just off the main road to Castle Alloway. After some thought, Pent decided that it was quite appropriate from what he had gleaned regarding the family; in fact, the more he looked at it, the more he liked the house.

"Milord."

Pent glanced over his shoulder where his driver stood, respectfully offering him the gift he had brought for Louise's parents. Taking it under one arm, Pent nodded his thanks and began to walk down the little path, sparsely studded with large rocks, to the front door. He waited for a servant to open the door for several moments before he realized that the curtains were closed behind the large windows to either side of the walnut wood door, and he couldn't see anyone on the other side of the small window in the door. Embarrassed and wondering if his driver was watching him stand in front of the door like an entitled fool, he knocked three times with probably a little more force than was polite. He jostled the boxed gift--a bottle of fine red wine from Northern Reglay's vineyards--out from under his arm as he waited for someone to come to the door, his impatience growing after several more moments passed. He was beginning to feel abandoned when suddenly he heard footsteps on the other side of the door, then the sharp _clak_ of the deadbolt being thrown.

The door opened and Louise's father stared at him with what Pent recognized as a subtle air of annoyance mixed with resignation--he received that look from quite a few Reglay nobles. "Ah, it's you," Louise's father said before opening the door wider. "Well, come in."

Pent felt compelled to raise an eyebrow at the sight of the master of the house opening the door for guests, but perhaps that was the Allowellian way. "I thank you, Monsieur Émile," he replied with a nod, discreetly wiping his shoes on the solid stone porch before following his host's lead. After they walked through the foyer and to the left doorway into a large sitting room, Pent stood by uncomfortably as Louise's father drew open the curtains like the older man had done it a thousand times before, waiting for an opportunity to pass on the gift. That moment came when the other man turned around and gave him an odd look.

"Do you need an invitation to sit?"

"...No, I just, well, thank you for allowing me to visit your home today. Please accept this as a token of my appreciation for the kindness you and your wife have shown during the course of my engagement to your daughter," Pent said, wondering if he had said too much or not enough when Louise's father said nothing at all. Feeling somewhat annoyed now, he passed the gift to the older man, who took it without a word and opened the box. There was a flicker of something odd on the man's face before he looked up at Pent, who could not avoid frowning ever so slightly at the continued lack of silence. "Is something the matter?" he asked.

"This is a bottle of wine, correct?"

"Yes, from Reglay's vineyards. I was told that it's an excellent year." Pent paused. "Was this incorrect?"

Louise's father arched an eyebrow. "You are aware that we are Lighter Elimineans?"

"...Louise has mentioned it before, I believe." As Pent's knowledge of Eliminism was more focused on its magic and not its denominations, the turn of conversation was beginning to frustrate him. "Pardon me, but what does this--"

"We don't drink."

"What--not alcohol?"

"Right."

"...Oh." If there was any time for as little said as possible, it would be this time. "I see."

Perhaps Louise's father decided to take pity on him, for as the older man closed the box he commented, "I suppose I can give this to Ellie to use as cooking wine."

_That bottle is older than me and you're just going to use it as cooking wine?_ Pent thought, incredulous. He only drank when he was having guests or being a guest himself, but he had visited a winery in the past year and the thought of all that effort being wasted for cooking wine made him feel annoyed on the behalf of his county. Reasoning it away as being a gift given in good will and that he should be thankful that the other man was not as offended in turn was a cold comfort. He sat down and wanted tea, but there were still no maids around and it would be beyond rude to ask his host for a cup. "Well," he said, casting about for a good conversation starter, "how is Louise today?"

The older man eased himself into a chair close to the window, placing the box on a nearby accent table. The room was not too large, but they were halfway across the room from each other and it made Pent feel as if he would have to yell and be yelled at in return. The novelty of being yelled at was diminished by the fact that he rarely raised his voice--he couldn't help but wonder if his host just wanted him to shut up. But when Louise's father spoke, Pent heard him use the same measured tones as before. "She went out hunting at dawn for tonight's feast and came home later than she had expected. She should be here shortly."

"Ah. Does she do this often?"

If anything, the question seemed to irritate the other man. "When she feels like it, of course," he answered, his tone short.

"Oh." Wondering if he had said something wrong, and annoyed because he was sure he hadn't, Pent decided to move to another topic. "Is Lady Catherine in today?"

"She went to visit her father, since her birthday is next month."

_Strange_, thought Pent. When she had told him about her past, the beliefs her father had held towards her seemed to be enough for them to remain estranged forever. Certainly his own relationship with his father had been that of near strangers, and they hadn't even the excuse of undergoing any sort of traumatic incident. "I see," he commented after a long moment had passed, enough to extend the awkwardness in the air.

Louise's father said nothing. Pent kept quiet. If time passed, Pent was sure it was doing so at half-speed. His throat itched; he really needed something to drink but couldn't ask...

Soft footfalls preceded Louise's very welcome entrance, a vision as she was in a light pink dress, knee-length light brown boots, and waves of long blond hair. "Ah, you've arrived, Lord Pent!" With her smiling in her usual sweet way, Pent couldn't help but feel less bothered as soon as he saw her; he wouldn't exactly say his problems were swept away by the sight of her, but she had a certain presence that was cheerfully refreshing. That feeling didn't fade as she turned to her father and said, "Father? Are you well? It really surprised me that neither of you were talking. I thought I had the wrong room for a moment." She laughed, and suddenly the atmosphere felt lighter.

"No, it's nothing at all, sweetpea," her father said, the smile on his face softening his demeanor immensely. Pent felt, just a little, like he was intruding, but before he could discreetly remove himself Louise pointed at the gift box.

"What is that?"

"Oh, well...he brought something of a present," her father answered in a vague manner.

Louise turned to Pent, her smile wide enough for him to renege on his earlier resentment and instead feel only guilt about giving her parents a gift they couldn't appreciate. "Thank you very much, Lord Pent! You're always so kind." Clasping her hands in front of her chest, she asked, "Have you already eaten?"

Pent nodded. "Yes, I had some breakfast before continuing the rest of the way."

"Oh, that makes sense." Her smile dimmed, bringing a sudden anxiety to him--what had he done now?--before she appeared sheepish. "Well, would you object to tea?"

"Absolutely not." Taking this as his hint to rise, Pent did so before nodding in her father's direction. "Excuse me, sir. Please lead the way, Louise." Before he turned his head to follow Louise's back, he saw the cool, considering face of her father, the older man's light blue eyes studying him impassively, and knew that for now he was being treated with the bare minimum of respect and nothing else.

He wasn't sure, but he had a feeling not all of that wariness had to do with his engagement to Louise.

-0-

Louise learned when she had made a birthday cake for them that Lord Pent had little affinity for sweets, which made her all the more appreciative that he was so willing to try the small chocolate and custard-filled cakes available for the morning tea; there was a sad lack of fruits owing to the fact that it was simply too early in the year to expect the stores and stores of berries common to Alloway. As there was going to be a great feast that night--the distant clatter in the kitchen as every maid in the house worked furiously something that Lord Pent easily accepted--there was going to be neither lunch nor afternoon tea, and so she urged him to eat well.

"But what if I want to leave room for the meal you've hunted?" he asked with that slight smile that often accompanied his light teasing, but once she processed his words she could not help the tremble that overcame both her hand and her cup before she put it down.

"Father told you?"

"Yes." Lord Pent gave her what she thought was a very understanding look. "Was he not supposed to?"

Her face warmed at his kindness, her cheeks tingling as she tried to smile with all the nonchalance of a woman who does not mind if she has failed to get her way. "I thought it would be a nice surprise," she answered quietly.

"Well, I for one am very surprised. I'll be looking forward to tonight's meal." As Lord Pent was always quite sincere, even when he indulged in teasing her, Louise could only nod. He seemed altogether much more at ease now than he had been before, sitting with her father--did they not get along?

_No, that can't be it_, she thought, fingering the hem of her knee-length skirt, the side of her littlest finger pressed not uncomfortably against the ridge of her stiff deerskin boots. _Father has been tired lately, and the only reason why he didn't go out today was because Lord Pent was arriving. Mother's absence never does him well. Poor Father..._

When tea was finished Lord Pent rose, a gentle smile on his face that warmed her to see it. "What will we be doing today?"

"The weather is excellent for riding, but..." Understanding all too well that the anxiety that coursed through her body would not abate until she discovered for herself her father's problems and perhaps eased them a bit, she bowed her head slightly in self-conscious discomfort. "Oh, please forgive me, I'll be right back!" With those words, Louise hurried out of the breakfast room, hoping to find her father still lingering in the sitting room where she had found him earlier; were he in his office, she would not like to disturb him. She offered a small prayer of gratitude to the holy saint when she entered the sitting room and saw that he was preoccupied with little at all, save for the gift Lord Pent had presented to him. Her dear father noticed her as soon as she stepped inside the room, his mild expression transforming into one of grave concern.

"Louise, what is it? Why do you look so flustered?" he asked, slipping into Etruscan as he often did when he was greatly bothered. As always, she followed his lead.

"Father, I was worried about you. Are you sure nothing is wrong?"

Her father sighed. "You're such a sweet child. Your mother said I'm not to interfere when that boy's come around, so I won't say anything at all."

Clenching her hands together, she ventured, "Does that mean you dislike Lord Pent? But why?"

There was a pained look on her father's face before he looked away from her. "I just worry about you, Louise," he said, his heavy tone much older than his thirty-four years of age; consequently, it weighed down her heart unlike anything else she had ever endured. Crossing the room with a few quick strides, she embraced her father around his broad shoulders.

"Please don't," she whispered into his ear. "Have I matured so little that you would worry about me like I was still a child?"

She heard him exhale heavily. "Of course you're right. But you're my daughter and I can't help but worry." Though she drew away from him, she still kept her hands on his shoulders as she looked down at his face. Inwardly, she fretted at the dissonance between his weighed-down old tone and his golden hair and beard free from even a single gray hair, but she sought to maintain her serenity and show her father just how well she had grown due to his loving patience.

"You needn't worry, Father. Thanks to you and Mother, I've become the best I could ever be. So please, trust in me." Perhaps the truth of her words reached him, for his expression lightened and he looked at her not with undue concern, but with the trusting paternal affection on which she had always depended.

"What a good girl you are," he said fondly, patting the top of her head and disturbing her loose, long locks. She shook her head away from his hand as she stepped away from his sitting form, vainly trying to smooth out her hair again.

"Oh, Father! You should at least call me a lady now!"

Her father laughed, its deep sound comforting and warm. "Nice try. You're only fifteen."

Knowing that she had been away from Lord Pent too long to be considered anything but rude, she hurried to the open doorway back to the foyer before turning around. "Please don't think ill of Lord Pent. He's really a wonderful man and one day I know everyone will see it. It would make Mother and I despair if you stressed yourself over that. We love you too much to bear seeing you worry so."

An odd look crossed her father's face. "Louise, should I ask if you've already fallen for the boy?"

"Huh? W-what are you asking? I don't know anything about that!" And with that Louise scurried back to the breakfast room because--how embarrassing!

When she hurried through the doorway, Lord Pent looked at her with a most startled expression on his face; it seemed he hadn't expected her to burst into the room with such exuberance! To see him so soon after her father had posed such a strange question to her made her suddenly conscious of every heartbeat in her chest, as well as in her throat it felt, when Lord Pent rose from his seat and approached her. "Are you well, Louise?" he asked. His worried expression, mild as it was, made her wonder what it was about her that made the men in her life worry about her so.

"I'm very well, truly!"

"Truly?"

Louise stared at him a moment before he began to smile, then she turned her head away in exasperation. "Lord Pent, I understand I was unforgivably rude in leaving you so suddenly, but I was concerned about my father and I wanted to make sure he was all right."

"Then in that case, I would be the rude one if I expressed any irritation over something like that. After all, it seems your family is very important to you."

"Oh, but..." She turned to him, knowing that she could not hide the frown on her face. "Aren't all families important to the people within them?"

His smile was much diminished now, and she wondered if she had hit a nerve. "I suppose so," he answered, his tone so neutral it seemed meaningless. Before she could say a word, he had taken her hand within one of his own. "Well, Louise, shall we go?"

She led him outside and to the stables, knowing that in turn he was leading her out from the more sensitive arenas of their mutual communication. Knowing that she could only wait for him to speak of these things on his own, while worrying that they had perhaps reached an impasse, she could only lead while letting herself be led and wonder where they were going.

-0-

Sometimes, Pent decided, he really was a fool.

Due to Lady Catherine's departure, there had been only one horse left, a gray-blue mare Louise affectionately called 'Marion.' They had to double up, Louise taking the reins as he sat behind her, surreptitiously clinging to the sides of the saddle rather than to hold onto Louise's slender waist. It left him feeling terribly awkward, because while he wouldn't mind holding on to her he didn't want to make her uncomfortable. He especially didn't want her parents finding out, or else that would probably be the end of his noble line, engagement or not.

Lady Catherine's weeks-old warning hung in the back of his mind like the cool threat of an unsheathed sword, and he had to suppress a shudder.

He wondered how it was possible they were allowed to ride together unchaperoned, but decided not to question any bit of good luck granted to him. Neither of them said anything as they rode out across green fields, and every time he turned around the back of her house became smaller and smaller until it was just a speck in the distance. It seemed that she had a place in mind, though the landscape showed nothing of interest beyond the length of a small river and the occasional house, and so he clung to the saddle until he could feel it imprint on his palms, all the while attempting to enjoy the unseasonably warm March weather.

They stopped at the top of a gentle slope, untouched land spreading for miles before them; near the horizon, Pent thought he could see the blue of the ocean. He got off the horse first, wondering if he should help Louise before he saw her carefully climbing down with her back to him, the loose knee-length skirt of the pale pink dress she wore riding up one creamy, unblemished length of thigh. As casually as he could, he walked ahead and thought very hard about the possible sight of ocean before him and nothing, absolutely nothing, about the soft-looking fullness of her inner thigh.

As it turned out, this was more difficult than he imagined.

He heard rustling sounds behind him as he resolutely stared forward before he heard her call out his name. Turning around, he saw that Louise had looped the reins around one of the low branches of the gangly, winter-bare tree that stood on this low summit and was now crouching down, exhibiting more care with her skirts now than she had earlier. "Lord Pent," she beckoned him with a sweet smile, "won't you sit down?"

With reservation, he nodded. "Of course." Careful to exhibit a sense of propriety he did not completely feel, he made sure to keep some space between them as he sat down next to her, leaning his back against the knobby trunk of the tree. "It's a nice view," he commented.

Louise's smile grew wider. "Oh, it is. You should see it later, once it becomes late spring. The entire vale is covered in yellow violets, and Celia and I collect baskets of them to decorate our church and make into tea."

"Violet tea?" Pent asked, intrigued. "I've never heard of that before. Is it good?"

"Well, no, not really." She giggled, one hand occupied in tucking her golden hair behind one ear, then the other. "But it's tradition, so we always drink it anyway. That's why Father leaves this area undeveloped, although he owns it."

"What does he do with the developed land?"

"He sells it to anyone who is willing to farm their own land. Although Etrurian law forbids selling land to anyone considered peasantry, there's a loophole that allows my father to establish partial business owners, so although he still owns the land on paper it really belongs to whoever buys the acreage from him." A pensive look crossed her face before she winced. "Oh, but you have to promise not to tell anyone, since he and Uncle Aramis are still working to legalize the practice."

"I promise." Feeling emboldened, he continued with, "But I'm afraid I don't understand why he would do that, legal or not."

She stared at him as if he'd said something she couldn't comprehend. "Because everyone deserves to have their own land so they can feed their families and turn a profit. Here in Alloway, it's very important for us to keep a sense of...autonomy, I believe the word is. Hard work is very important to us, especially when we know that our effort will bring us good returns." Placing her hands on her lap, she twisted the material of her dress lightly between her fingers. "Probably because of our Etruscan heritage, we pride ourselves on our independence. It's not enough just to be blond." She laughed, and he joined her.

"I see it now. You're very knowledgeable." More than that, he thought--she had the interesting ability to tie intelligence with compassion. He supposed it was not quite correct to call it an 'ability,' but it was rare, whatever it was. He remembered Lady Catherine remarking upon her husband's innate sentimentality; it was obvious Louise was much the same way, but it belied the sharpness of her intellect. Within the latter were shades of Lady Catherine's fierce application of her ideals, revealing her keen mind to the world whether it liked it or not.

If ever there was a child who combined her parents' traits perfectly, Pent knew he was looking at her right now.

"Oh, well," she murmured, her face coloring somewhat as she looked down. "My father taught me everything he could, since I was the heiress once..."

Surprise sparked within him, prompting him to ask, "You won't inherit?" She shook her head.

"Since my claim will become my husband's interest, and ownership of land can't cross county borders, it's not possible."

"But then, who will inherit?"

"One of my cousins. My father sent someone to look for my Aunt Charlotte's family, but because they're hunters who travel Lycia it might take a while."

He thought she looked uncomfortable with his questions, which he couldn't blame her since he thought he sounded as though he was too interested in the land. He already had too much of that to worry about without the added nuisance of anyone else's claims, but to assure her he smiled. "I'm glad I won't be causing too much of an interference with your family's plans, then." To his relief, she returned his smile.

"You shouldn't worry at all, Lord Pent. In a way, I'm kind of happy. My mother sometimes says that, in a perfect world, Aunt Charlotte would have inherited everything, but then my father, if he's in hearing distance, will always say that Mother 'must not like the house she's living in,' and then they'll start bickering..." Louise trailed off with a bit of a sigh as she looked towards the green fields before them.

He wondered what he should say. "Do they 'bicker' often?"

"Hm, it depends." Louise glanced at him, something of an embarrassed look on her face. "That's not to say they're unhappy, of course. Actually, I think they enjoy the fights."

"Ah," he said, at this point lost. "I can't say I understand..."

"I don't know either. I wouldn't like to fight at all."

"We're in agreement there, then."

She grinned. "How wonderful! I'm really happy to hear that. Well, that is, you always seem so calm and reserved, so I can't imagine you ever becoming angry."

"I should be saying the same thing about you. I've never met a person half as sweet and cheerful as yourself," he returned, smiling as surprise crossed her face.

"You're not teasing, are you?"

"I swear I'm not."

"Truly? Because I'd be very hurt if you were."

"And you would have every right to be."

They were both smiling at the end of their exchange, yet there was something else to her lovely features that he couldn't decipher, something soft and strong, something that lit up her eyes with fun and life. Whatever it was, it was more than welcome; it was the fondest look he had ever seen aimed at himself, mixed with something incomprehensible, but in that instant he thought he would do anything just to keep that look on her face. It was an expression that made him truly realize for the first time in their nearly year-long engagement that he was going to marry her.

She laughed, and for the first time since he became Count Reglay he saw the future not as an endless succession of duties that he would have to bear with variable amounts of willingness, but as the natural result of his best choices.

God willing, he would continue to make the best choices he could.

"I think I would like to see these lands filled with golden violets," he said, smiling a little at her look of pleased surprise. "If not this year, then definitely the next."

A rosy pink color bloomed on her cheeks. "T-this year would be lovely for it, since next year we'll be busy with the wedding." Running a hand through her hair, she looked away from him and laughed softly. "But, Lord Pent, they're called yellow violets. I've never heard of golden violets before."

He looked at her hair, those long, brilliant locks like bright beams of sunlight, and smiled to himself. "Whichever you prefer, Louise. They're your flowers, after all."

-0-

Altogether too soon it was time for Lord Pent to depart for Uncle Aramis' castle, and Louise was sorry for it. She did not think she would have the chance to see him tomorrow, unless by chance Uncle Aramis invited her father and herself up the road, and after her father's rather silent disposition tonight she thought if there were an invitation it would be best to decline for everyone's sake. Lord Pent would return to Reglay after that, and then it would be some time before she would return to Castle Reglay to further acquaint herself to the duties of the lady of the house.

Though she was despised by many of the Reglay servants, she would not falter. She would do her best while continuing to explore the growing bond she felt between herself and Lord Pent.

"Good night, Lord Pent," she told him as quietly as she could while she stood on the porch. Celia was lingering nearby inside, and if their goodbyes were overly long her father was sure to wander through the foyer as well.

"Good night, Louise." With those words he took one of her hands in his. Though it was a chilly night, more appropriate for the first wind month than the day had been, even the tips of his fingers were warm to the touch. "I enjoyed myself today. I'm even more in awe of your archery than I was before, if it allows you to catch a bird that big."

She smiled purely by instinct, a bit embarrassed to be reminded of the contest last year. "Don't say that, not when I haven't shown you how well I can really shoot yet."

"You'll be entering again this year, then?" The foyer behind her was lit up enough for her to see the genuine look of interest on his face. "Well, I can't wait. I'll make plans to come down here then."

"Oh, but it'll be during the harvest festival this year. I'll write you with the details."

"Good, good. I'll be happy to hear of it. I..." He seemed to pause. "Well. You think of me as reserved, correct?"

Louise said nothing until her curiosity overtook her suspicions that he was going to tease her again. "I would think that anyone who has made your acquaintance thinks of you as reserved," she lightly rejoined, and to that his smile was very slight and quite mysterious.

Then he raised her hand, lowered his head, and in-between the two she could feel his lips touch the back of her hand.

His lips were warm, and even after he raised his head she thought she could feel the heat of them upon her hand. Of course, as these things must work out in that not-quite-familiar physical domain that was her body, that strange warmth had also transmitted to her face. And yet, she could not look away from him. For all the good and pure things in the world she could not look away.

"...That is," he started after a moment of utter bewildered silence between them, "I've had the opportunity of seeing a knight do that before, in Aquleia. I thought it would be interesting to try. Although, perhaps I should have asked your permission first."

"Oh, no." When she realized by the surprise on his face how her words could have been misconstrued, she shook her head and tried again. "No, no, it's perfectly fine. It's...I don't mind at all." She giggled as a sort of full-stop she desperately needed to keep from rambling, though for the barest sliver of a moment she was afraid she sounded quite hysterical.

"Oh. Then, that's good. Very good, really." He released her hand, and for a single heartbeat the urge to reclaim his touch was overpowering. "If I don't see you tomorrow, I'll write you as soon as I return to Reglay. There's a little matter I'll have to clear up once I return, but after that we'll schedule your next visit. Well then, good night." With a nod, he turned, but not before she had been honored with the sight of his smile.

"Good night," she whispered as she watched him complete the trail to the road and enter his carriage. Even after she watched his carriage depart, she found herself unwilling to move, content as she was to let the night breeze stir her hair and raise the gooseflesh along her arms. Surely if her mother saw her like this she would be chided as being a silly girl, not to talk of inciting her poor father to continue with more questions along the same vein he had put to her earlier, and yet...

"Lady Louise?" Celia said from behind her, her soft voice tinged with concern. Louise nodded, resolutely turning around even as she felt her heart waver by degrees.

_Isn't it strange? He's only just left, and already I want to see him again._

It was not an unpleasant feeling, she decided. Indeed, it was the most wonderful feeling she had ever experienced thus far. How could it not be, when its warmth matched that of his lips?

-end-

I hope everyone has enjoyed this latest Bouquet story. The next update will be on 8/24.

Lady of Violets: Most of the character titles you see for the game's individual character endings are shortened from the Japanese version. For instance, Pent is actually called Mage General of Silver, a reference to his son Klein who is called Noble Youth of Silver. Louise is known as the Lady of Golden Violets, which seems to bring up comparisons to her long blond hair. While golden violets do exist, they are not mentioned in any source of Victorian flower meanings; yellow violets are, although I can't say they're really the same thing. It was from that definition of 'rural happiness' that I came up with the idea that Louise came from a more rural background. In hanakotoba, Japanese flower meanings, the violet (no yellow/golden violets as far as I can tell) means 'honesty.'

If you have any comments or questions, please feel free to make them known. I would especially love to know how everyone is taking the way the romance is portrayed now that there are overt signs of it. Honestly, I hope everyone's feeling a little happier after this story.


	11. A Thorny Road Ahead, part 1

Bouquet

(C) Intelligent Systems and Nintendo

-0-

A Thorny Road Ahead (part one): Cardamine, Tamarisk, Almond Tree, Black Thorn  
(_the paternal error did not lie solely in the crime, but also in the thoughtlessness for what difficulties would lay ahead for his child._)

-Twenty-five minutes ago-

It was over.

Pent stood alone in one of the palace's opulent waiting rooms, far too anxious to sit down and wait in a pretense of calm until he was called. He didn't know how long he had already been waiting for; all he knew was how difficult it was to maintain any semblance of his normal disposition. Even the audience he had just had with the king hadn't been this difficult, even though various courtiers and guards had lingered in the throne room while he revealed everything he knew, every single harmful fact of what had gone on within House Reglay from the last years of his father's reign. He could imagine all those facts now flying out of the castle from the lips of the courtiers like flocks of honking geese, unable not to be heard as they spread throughout the kingdom. And yet, even knowing that, he had the temerity to request from the king one favor despite how useless it would be.

The king had looked at him so kindly after he made his request that he knew he was being pitied, but Pent could do nothing more than bow his head and repeat himself.

It was over. What judgment would be rendered? As it had also happened during his tenure, pleading ignorance was nothing more than self-absorbed foolishness. He had not done so. The king had commended him for his integrity, but Pent had never wanted it to be tested this way. And, even though he had been ignorant, even though he had only been compliant in the most tacit of ways, the crime had been committed because of him. Because his father had...loved him.

What a horrible way to find out.

Pent ran his hands through his hair as if the action could spend the nervous energy twisting within him--useless, of course. All he could do now was wait for the king to finish meeting with his advisors before receiving him back to the throne room, where he was to learn the punishment he would bear. And after that, everyone else would know. Etruria would not help but know.

A shudder ran through him at that thought. Louise would know. What would she think?

But he had already made his decision when he requested an audience with the king, right after he had learned everything he had never wanted to know. Now all he could do was wait, and remember.

-Yesterday, noon-

"Please tell me everything you know."

The auburn-haired clerk--Raike Nachett of Reglay, ancestry from the Lycian canton of Khathelet according to the basic application forms required of anyone who worked directly for House Reglay, yet another brilliant regulation Pent's father had been responsible for--nodded at Pent's command, the first thing of consequence he had to say once he had summoned the clerk. "I was hoping you had called me for that reason, or else I can forget having a job once I return with these in hand." From his overcoat Raike pulled out the financial ledgers he had brought last time, placing them on Pent's desk. "Master Borenze locked these up after the failed meeting I had with you and lectured me most severely, but I've learned a thing or two about lock-picking from my wife."

Pent raised an eyebrow at this dropped bit of information. "What sort of occupation requires that?"

"She was a chambermaid here, actually, and the head woman in those days never would unlock anything unless it was for her favorites. That woman was fired for assisting an ongoing theft ring while you were still away at school." Raike paused, looking thoughtful. "And before that she was a pegasus knight."

The other eyebrow rose, then Pent decided it was best not to get too distracted. "Right. Anyway, first tell me this: Have the ledgers always been locked away except for when the annual budget time comes around?"

"Only these two. Well, three including nine-seventy's, our most recent one."

"But none of the others."

"No, milord."

"I see." Nodding to the leather-bound ledgers, Pent said, "Show me what you found, in full detail."

Raike opened one of the ledgers, looked through it, then closed it and picked up the other. Pent watched as the clerk skimmed through it, eyes narrowed in concentration, before stopping and placing it open before him. "This year I was assigned to work on the budgetary notations for the palace's records, so I decided to look up the past few years to see how to label everything correctly. Sixty-seven's was fine, but when I looked through sixty-eight's I noticed several imbalances. You can see for yourself here, even without looking at the past year's."

As he looked where he had been directed, Pent noticed several figures seemed off. They were not small amounts, either. "Taxes were raised here," he commented more to himself as he began flipping through the pages to see where the extra money was distributed. Yet, he couldn't seem to find anything. "Approximately how much was missing from this year?"

"Actually, I can give you an exact figure: ten thousand gold."

"Ten thousand? That's too exact." Pent put down the ledger and closed it. "So this is nine sixty-eight; what about the year after?" The filing for nine sixty-nine had been his first, during that bleak winter of AS 970; he had been forced to sign the affirmation of the papers sent to the palace while also planning his father's funeral and subsequent interment into the family tomb. Because of everything that had been going on, he had let his steward do everything. Anything his steward had handed to him to sign, he signed without a thought.

And that made him an accomplice to Borenze's crimes.

Raike handed him the ledger he had first glanced through. "It's the same amount, but the method was different. Taxes seem to have been lowered to their usual percentage, so minor expenses were either falsified or taken out of the sums for county-wide projects like roads or village maintenance."

Frowning, Pent opened the ledger and skimmed through pages of neatly-written figures like he never had before, engrossed by the information displayed before him. "The same amount, is that so..." he muttered as he began to notice tiny errors in basic computation, equaling hundreds of gold missing at a time.

_Borenze took that money from the people of Reglay? He did this underneath my father's nose? That can't be right at all, not with the way my father was..._

He glanced up from the page, meeting Raike's eyes. There was something about the clerk, a quiet indignation that was building if the reddening of his face was any hint, that gave Pent pause. "Did you confront him?"

"No, I didn't think that was wise."

Pent closed the ledger. "I'm assuming the same is with nine-seventy."

"You were very busy with the planning for the birthday celebration." Raike tried to sound kind, but Pent could only cover his face in one hand, frozen solid at his own incompetence.

_Is that why he pushed so hard to have such a large party for my and Louise's birthdays, no matter what I told him about the kind of celebration I wanted?_ Pent wondered in growing horror. _To have me so distracted that I would just let him do as he liked, and have me do little more than give his crimes legitimacy?_

_And I let him. I let him do everything he wanted. Whenever I planned to tour the region, he was the one who would plan where I was to go. I always ended up at the specialized industries, the ones Reglay has historically been focused on, or I was visiting with the lords. Never the villages._

He remembered Alloway. Accompanied by Count Alloway and his knight captain, they conducted a vigorous tour of the small county and its vast farmlands. Lord Aramis seemed to have known every possible statistic, down to how many people lived in a certain area, what they were expected to produce, and the average quota during his sixteen-year reign. It had made Pent realize just how little he had known about his own county, and he'd asked Lord Aramis how to begin some of those same institutions for Reglay. He had hoped to implement the best ones once he made his next tour, which he had wanted to do the next time Louise visited. He had wanted her advice, since she seemed to have an understanding of land ownership and business practices.

What could he do now? Once word got out about this, he would be lucky if the peasantry began a revolt before the nobles who hated him started their own coup d'etat. The regular people, villagers, commoners, peasants, whatever they were called--they had every right to do so. This yearly embezzlement, thirty thousand gold stolen by a combination of lordly ignorance and the cunning and audacity to take the money from right underneath his masters' watch, had harmed them the most. Their roads, their villages, their very quality of life, all these things had been made worse.

That money was gone. Pent had no hope in finding it now. All he could do now was discover what would make a man who purported himself loyal to Reglay, not only the family house but the county itself, commit such a crime as self-serving as embezzlement.

"Raike," he started, "you've done a great service for Reglay, and I give you my heartfelt gratitude for it. I would like to think that I would have discovered this eventually, but how much more money would have been stolen from the coffers before then?"

Raike shook his head. "Milord, I require no thanks from you. Reglay is my home. My father was born here and he worked everyday in the castle stables so that he might send me to university and use my education to help our homeland. My family is here and..." The clerk looked away, a smile on his face. "My eldest son wants to be a castle knight someday, so I have to do my part in making sure he stays proud of his home."

_Strange_, Pent thought. Before, when the evidence was first shown to him, he hadn't felt very much at all. But after hearing the young clerk's words, he could feel something pull in his chest, as if inside him were a rope pulled taut.

It wasn't anger, not yet. But it wouldn't take much.

"I thank you," Pent said before gesturing to a small office adjacent to his own. "If you could, I would like you to wait in there. I would like to talk further with you afterward." Raike bowed his head in agreement to this, and a memory long forgotten appeared in Pent's mind. "You were also the one who placed Louise's name on that list," he realized.

Raike looked surprised, blinking rapidly. "Uh...yes, I did, milord."

Smiling, Pent said, "Thank you." He stood. "Now, if you would, please." With those words, the clerk quickly vacated his seat for what would soon be a much more comfortable place than the office he had entered, and Pent approached the door. Opening it led to the discovery of two castle guards, both who stood at attention when Pent stuck his head out into the hallway. "Find Borenze," he ordered, and both did so with unnatural speed. He supposed his tone had a lot to do with that.

He was seated again when Borenze entered the room, the older man huffing away with exertion; when the steward's eyes fell upon the ledgers on the desk, Pent noted with disappointment the way the man paled. "M-milord?" he asked, his voice wavering.

"You're going to need to sit down for this." Pent had to marvel at his cool, even tone, all while his nascent anger began to build. With extreme hesitance, Borenze did so, and Pent nodded at the ledgers that separated them. "Now, explain."

"W-what shall I explain?"

"Explain why you have been embezzling Reglay's money for the last three years."

Borenze lowered his head. "Oh, merciful saint, please forgive me..."

"I believe you should be begging the forgiveness of the people of Reglay before you plead your case before Saint Elimine," Pent said in a dry tone; despite his blasé words and expression, his anger and impatience were growing and he knew he was in danger of being overwhelmed by his feelings. "Now, let's try this again. Why have you committed this crime?"

"It was..." Borenze did not lift his head. "It was on your father's orders, milord."

That rope inside of Pent snapped cleanly and without warning, and all he could be thankful of was that he did not keep his spell tomes in his office. "How dare you," he said, his voice betraying only the smallest tremble of the deluge of emotions within him--anger, disgust, and a strong sense of being appalled that such a charge could ever be uttered. Pent leaned forward, a fist on his desk as he continued with, "How dare you insult my father with such a bold-faced lie?"

Borenze shook his head, his body shuddering with the force of the movement. "I-I do no such thing. I'm, I'm only telling the truth. Your father did command me to pull ten thousand gold annually from the budget, to do whatever I could to get that sum ready."

Pent rose from his chair with a half-realized snarl, twisting one corner of his lips in a way that he knew would be forever imprinted in the muscle memory of his face. Backing away from the disgrace that was his former steward only led him so far, and he felt claustrophobic even with the large window at his back. "My father did this, you say," he stated, his voice flat. "That man cared about Reglay more than anything else, and you would dare accuse him of a crime of this magnitude. Worse yet, you actually think I would believe you?"

"...You would have to, milord," Borenze said, his voice feeble. "Why do you think he raised the taxes in sixty-eight?"

It seemed all the energy, all the malignant hate that was powering his self-righteous streak fled Pent's body; he leaned against the great window behind him in an effort to keep himself standing. "What?" he breathed.

"He only did it for that one year because the nobles began to complain and he was far more concerned with his sudden illness, so instead I planned to take the money from existing programs." This last sentence was punctuated with a soft sigh. "It was necessary."

"Necessary?" The word felt like ashes in Pent's mouth. "What could be so necessary about it?"

Borenze sighed again. "You are so young, and yet you're already held in such high regard amongst the magic associations of Etruria. I remember the look on your father's face when he heard that you had your first published paper in one of the premier journals. Even though you never told him of your accomplishments, he was so proud of you." He shook his head as he moaned. "But your genius caught too many curious eyes. Your name was mentioned a few too many times, and you were to be enlisted as an officer in the mage corps. Imagine! The military believed they could snatch away the only son and heir of the great house of Reglay without even a word of it to the Count!"

Pent was silent, his hands tight fists at his sides.

"Your father was tormented when he found out. He knew how much you loved to research magic, and not only did he think you were unsuitable for the military he couldn't bear to relinquish his only son. It was discovered that a high-ranking courtier in the palace was willing to...defer your transfer by a year for a paltry sum, and your father agreed to it."

"As did you."

Borenze kept his head down, and Pent could see him wringing out his hands in his lap. "You were the only heir. Your father never remarried, finding marriage distasteful and a hindrance to his work, and he did not...seek outside entertainment. The Martel line has dwindled this much from its once-great numbers..."

"Please, I'm not interested," Pent said, disgusted even as his mind worked out other odd occurrences as fast as it could. "That drive for money...it was why you had me find a potential bride so early, why you tried to push me into an early wedding with Louise under that ridiculous 'guardianship,' and why you were pushing so hard for a large dowry that her father nearly called everything off. I thought Reglay didn't need the money, but we did, didn't we?"

"Yes, for the 'encouragement money.'"

"Call it what it really is--bribery. You were bribing a palace courtier for years under my father's orders." Disillusionment couldn't begin to describe what Pent felt at this moment. "And how long was this supposed to go on? The minute you balked at paying, that official would have gone straight to the king and had us all charged with 'conspiracy to disrupt the integrity of the national government,' or perhaps even treason since I was apparently dodging enlistment for so long. Do you..." He had to stop; his throat constricted for reasons beyond him. He swallowed once, ignoring the ache of it. "Do you have any idea what you've done to House Reglay? To the county and all the people within its borders? Do you have any idea how you've dishonored my family name by going through with such an asinine plan?"

Now it was Borenze's turn not to say anything. Disgusted, all Pent could do was stride past him on the way to the door. Opening it, he told the guards to have a carriage ready for him by the time he went downstairs, and they ran in response. "What are you doing?" were the words the former steward greeted him with when Pent closed the door.

He took a deep breath. "I'm going to fix this...this horrible mess you and my father have made for me. I will go to the palace and tell the king everything."

"You can't do that!" Borenze shouted, rising from his chair with a speed that belied the man's aging body. "You'll ruin everything!"

"Everything? There's still something left to wreck? I had best protect it from your so-called help, then." He stared down at the man he had depended on to be the count he knew he could never be, no matter how diligently he had worked. Now he knew better. "You're dismissed. I suggest you leave Reglay before the news comes out here as to what exactly you've done."

"You..." Borenze seemed so decrepit, so run-down and pathetic that Pent was almost inclined to feel sorry for him. That he didn't was a sign of his better judgment showing through. "Condemn me as you will, milord, but understand that your father did this out of his love for you, his only child. You do your father a disservice to assume malice in his actions."

"Leave," Pent said, his voice choked with finality. "Leave, and be grateful your next home isn't the dungeon. I...will never forgive the perpetrators of this crime."

Was that a lie? Pent didn't know. All he knew was that, even if he believed his father had hated him and had wished to torment him from beyond the grave by doing this...this thing, it would still be less of a disservice than the tainted legacy his father had left for him to deal with. Once, he had believed his father to be the very best count, a tireless administrator who was exacting, grasping, and utterly devoted to the county their ancestors had ruled over for centuries. He had admired and resented his father for being so excellent at being Count Reglay, all the while believing that he would never compare. And, all the while knowing that he was nothing more than a result of his father's devotion to his duty, a son born shackled to House Reglay.

He had preferred all his naive resentments and insecurities to the inescapable burden of his father's love.

-Now-

It seemed the throne room was even more crowded than before, though Pent had to wonder if that was just an observation born of paranoia. All their eyes were on him and that was a fact, the weight of their stares as oppressive as a dragon's aura must have felt when that race had still existed. He did not tremble or twitch in any way, preferring vastly to keep his dignity to the end. All he did--all he could do--was follow the appropriate procedures, kneeling before the throne as he waited for the king to speak. Only once he bowed his head did he let himself swallow in nervous calm, wrapped within an oxymoronic haze where he knew to dread what was going to happen, and yet feel strangely fine with whatever the verdict would be. He had done everything he could, he had kept strict accordance to his morals and his beliefs, and no matter what he suffered he could take comfort in that.

It was over. All that was left was to hear out the king's judgment.

He waited.

-end to part one-

Oh no, what's going to happen next? I can't wait to show you, so please expect the second part of Bouquet's first 'season finale' on 8/27! And, if you're feeling particularly blindsided by the sudden explosion of plot, might I suggest rereading from Flowers in Disarray onward? Thank you all for reading, and please feel free to let me know how I'm doing!


	12. A Thorny Road Ahead, part 2

Bouquet

(C) Intelligent Studios and Nintendo

-0-

A Thorny Road Ahead (part two): Hellebore, Broken Straw, Branch of Thorns  
(_the scandal meant nothing to her; it was her broken promise that dealt the most severe blow._)

-Three days ago, late morning-

The loveliness of Celia's smile could only be matched by the fondness in her lowered gaze as she said, "Lady Louise, perhaps we've dwelt on the kiss Lord Pent granted you long enough?" but the dainty blush that stained the fair skin of her strawberries-and-cream complexion told Louise that no, it had not dwelt upon enough. After all, even nearly a week lately she could still remember the heat from Lord Pent's lips as they touched the back of her hand--oh, she could not forget it for the world!

"Oh, but Celia, if it had been you he had bestowed with a kiss--"

"What are you saying?" Celia cried out, her face as bright as any fluttering ladybug's wings.

"--_If_ it had been so, you would be much the same way as I, or so I would imagine." Grinning with an almost maddened fervor despite all attempts at being the demure girl she was (really!), she cupped the back of her blessed right hand with her left, as if to protect it. "I still can hardly believe it. Lord Pent is so reserved and calm normally, yet to do such a thing..." She giggled, giddy with pleasure.

Celia grinned. "Lady Louise, you're so pure. I can't imagine how you'll react once he kisses your cheek."

"Celia!" Louise half-shrieked, half-laughed as she promptly tackled the other girl in a hug. Laughing in maddened delight, the both of them bounced a bit on Louise's bed until the vibrations of the moment had finally stilled. Celia sighed as she touched Louise's hair--Louise could feel that all the pins Celia had put in it had now gone missing, releasing her long hair from their hold.

"It took me forever to do it up like that, too..."

"Celia," Louise started, her head pillowed on Celia's stomach, "have you ever been kissed before?"

She heard and felt Celia chuckle. "What a weird question. You know that I intend to return to the convent after you're properly secured in your new life."

Louise could not help the sigh that escaped her; the thought of her dearest friend leaving her one day always made her feel the heaviest melancholy. She loved Celia dearly and wished her the greatest happiness--so then, why did Celia's happiness have to be at a place so far from her side? When they had first chanced to meet Celia had been running away from the convent she had entered on her own free will at the tender age of six, but since then there had been a gradual change in her dear friend's heart, one that longed for a life steeped in spirituality. Louise had also not been so blind to notice that this craving of Celia's had hastened with every trip they had taken to Castle Reglay--the last securing Celia's future to a life clothed by the cleric's habit.

_But it seems a lonely life_, Louise thought. After a lifetime of watching her parents interact, sometimes with rancor but always with love, she could not imagine shutting herself away within a cold place like a convent, no matter how ardently she believed in the tenets of her religion. And so, she asked a question she had uttered many times before: "Do you truly believe you could never love a man?"

Celia twirled a finger around a loose lock of Louise's hair. "I truly do. After seeing my own parents, watching as my mother grew more and more haggard with each new child until she seemed to lack life altogether while my father worked his hands bloody to support us all, my eldest siblings wandering off as soon as they could with limited success and leaving us little ones to make our own way...Lady Louise, you are so lucky. Not only to be an only child and the focus of your parents' love, but to be well-off and never want for food or clothing..."

"Aren't you even luckier to have passed in front of my mother's carriage during your great escape?" Louise asked, her tone that of the most mild teasing. Celia was not easily offended and so it was permissible to do such, but she took great care in remaining sensitive to her friend's past. It proved unnecessary this time, as Celia laughed with little restraint.

"I really was a sight, wasn't I? A mangy, dirt-caked stray using a heal staff to stagger forward. And yet you told your lady mother, 'She's so pretty! I want a sister, may I have her?'" After her falsetto mimicry, Celia lurched upwards into a sitting position and mangled Louise's hair most terrifically, scrubbing it as if she were washing it with soap, while Louise shrieked with laughter and tried to escape her friend's diabolical strength. "What an absolutely spoiled girl you were, Lady Louise! What am I, a dog?" She allowed Louise to extricate herself, which Louise did while aiming the greatest pout she could at her cruel friend, then grinned. "You're certainly a sight to behold now, mademoiselle. Lord Pent would certainly fall in love with your new hairstyle!" She fell over in laughter; Louise blew at a lanky lock that had fallen over her face, which was growing warmer and warmer at the mention of a certain word.

"I wouldn't like it if Lord Pent were to profess his love for me now," she said, a wistful note in her voice no matter how matter-of-fact she tried to sound. Celia stopped her laughter, confusion blooming across her beautiful features. "That is, I'm sure he doesn't feel that way. I would not like him to lie."

Celia seemed to consider her words. "Do you think he likes you, at least?"

"Um..." The heat in Louise's face exploded into what felt like an all-consuming fire. "Ye-e-es, perhaps. At least, I am sure he doesn't find my presence distasteful...but I'm not really sure what he thinks of me." She began smoothing down her hair for want of something to keep her hands occupied. "But it is understandable. He...has not lived a life full of love and tenderness."

It is an unnatural life, she did not have to add, not around Celia. Life to Louise was about loving and being loved. A life absent of these two interlinked parts was a life sadly incomplete; thus, she thought it best to hold off from such bold declarations. So long as he liked being with her, she would not worry unnecessarily.

Of course, her own feelings were not in doubt: It was too soon to talk of love, but she could eagerly recite the great number of things she so liked about him.

"I think he likes you very much," Celia declared--a true friend to the end, Louise thought in grateful cheer. "Though I have never talked to him, I can tell through your recounts of his demeanor. And I think he's growing bolder in his actions towards you because he understands, or is trying to understand, his feelings towards you."

Louise nodded, deep in thought. "Is that so? Should I encourage him, then?" Celia sat up in an instant, disrupting the balance of the bed with the sudden movement.

"No!"

"O-oh? So I shouldn't encourage him to tell me his feelings?"

Celia frowned. "Is that what you meant? Ah, you worried me for a second there!"

Confused and a little worried for her dear friend, Louise thought it best to simply change the subject. "Well, can you help me with my hair? We're to help out at the church and I'm afraid we'll be late if we don't hurry. You never know if someone needs your special talent at healing magic, after all!"

"My special talent? I barely heal little more than scratches and the odd bee sting. I'm afraid I don't serve well as anyone's support." Despite her words, she worked through Louise's tousled hair with ease until she formed a perfect ponytail, and with that the two friends left Louise's room. When they neared the stairs, it was to Louise's dismay that she could hear the strains of an argument between her parents. Cautioning Celia with a gesture to be silent, Louise eased down the stairs and found that her parents' raised voices were coming from the small library her mother had cultivated as her own. Knowing well that nothing good came from eavesdropping, she committed herself to it anyway and stood by the door, which had been left ajar--she could imagine her father bursting through it and her heart dropped in her chest.

"I shouldn't have to tell you this again, dearest, but it would do you very well not to crowd me," Louise heard her mother say with not just a little hint of hostility. "I told you what little I can out of good faith, now leave it alone."

"You can't leave it at that, Catherine, not to me. Anything that could hurt Louise is my business to know."

"Oh? Please don't speak as if you are her only parent. I know what I'm doing, so you just have to believe me when I say that it is best for you to not depend on hearsay. I know how you are. You jump at every little thing, and that won't serve our daughter well right now."

"Then why tell me anything at all? If you can spare enough words to tell me that there is bad news from Reglay, then you can tell me what that boy has done to merit it."

"Do you see? That is exactly why I refuse! Instantly to you it's all poor Lord Pent's fault! Well, I say we should wait--he'll be here soon enough to tell us everything."

"I've heard enough to know that he's done something wrong. It only proves that what I saw in Reglay was no error of naivety. That boy isn't just a poor excuse for a count--he's a criminal!"

Louise had heard enough; with all the force in her small body, she yanked the door open and strode within the room, nearly shivering with unsuppressed emotion. "Lord Pent is no such thing," she forced out through a constricting throat and teeth that wanted to grit together in a most unladylike way. "He is a good man, Father!"

Her father glared at her mother. "And what will you tell her, Catherine?" Her mother returned it in full, her expression only softening just before she directed her attention at Louise.

"...Louise, sweetheart, something's happened at Reglay but all Nella has been able to relay to me are the rumors from the royal court. There are some items that aren't rumors, but I think it would be best to wait for Lord Pent to come here and tell us what has happened instead of relying on half-truths and suppositions." Her mother's voice was very soothing and kind, but with it came a feeling that Louise understood quite keenly; mainly, that her mother did not think her mature enough to learn what she knew without going into hysterics or worse. And her father! How could he say such things about Lord Pent?

She may have stayed in place for too long, for she could feel Celia's arms wind around her shoulders, murmuring kind words as she was drawn out of the room. It was all she could do not to spare either of her parents a glance as she followed dear, kind Celia. "Let us go to the church and pray for Lord Pent," Celia suggested after they had departed from the library, and it was with a sullen, sinking feeling when Louise complied with little more than a nod.

To be left in this desperate fear, so worried for Lord Pent while knowing that she could not find comfort with her bickering parents...Louise knew that the days until Lord Pent arrived would be tormented ones indeed.

-Today, now-

"What are you doing here, Louise?"

Rocked by a wave of guilt, Louise could only look up so high on her mother's face, unable to meet the eyes that stared back at her knowingly. She looked away, but that was a mistake; her automatic glance at the door of her father's office, where Lord Pent and her father had entered perhaps half an hour before, only revealed her intentions--as if they were ever hidden to her mother, she thought in dismay. "Mm...I'm sorry, Mother. I couldn't help myself," she answered after a moment.

"I noticed," her mother answered dryly. Taking one of Louise's hands, her mother began to lead her away from the office door. "Ladies do not linger where they are not needed," admonished her mother. "Right now, you will do much better with some fresh air."

Her mother spoke true, as Louise's hand was not released until they stood outside behind the house, where Louise's private archery range was located. Celia was already there, her facial features carefully set in such a way that her inner anxieties were hidden, but Louise had known her for too long to be fooled. "Lady Louise, please sit next to me," she called in a soft voice. Though Louise did so, she felt disconsolate and willfully ill-tempered, such an anomaly to her normal disposition that it had her feeling worse by the knowledge that even she could feel this way.

"There now. I'll send Lord Pent over to you once he's finished his business with your father." With those words, her mother left. Louise sat still and silent, smaller than even her diminutive figure would have her feel. Celia, perhaps sensing her low spirits and general unease, let her be. Together, in sisterly silence more suited for a funeral than for waiting for one's fiancé, they waited. And when Lord Pent's footfalls could be heard just on the other side of the door, Louise felt the tension inside her build up so rapidly in time with her pounding heart that nausea nearly overwhelmed her.

Then, he was here.

Louise rose, wobbled, caught herself, and tried to smile, knowing that Lord Pent's eyes, ringed underneath with dark imprints, were watching her every movement. "Lord Pent, you're here. You look..." There were no positive words for his appearance; normally fastidious in even the most casual-looking of clothes, today his mild complexion looked almost sallow, his short hair as if he'd run his hands through it once too often, and his lean height shortened by bad posture. Even his slight smile as the silence stretched between them was a shadow of what it should have been, light, gentle teasing worn into something nearly mocking.

To see her sweet lord worn away into something like this made her want to burst into tears in foolish, ignorant sympathy; not knowing, wanting to know, and yet cringing away from the knowledge that had brought him so low.

"I feel ill," he said, his voice uncommonly soft, almost hollow. "I don't know how I look, but I definitely feel ill."

The admission didn't surprise Louise, but she had to keep from gasping all the same. "Would you like something to drink?"

He seemed to attempt a more sincere smile, though but a small one, as he shook his head. "It's not exactly a physical illness, but thank you." They lapsed into an uncomfortable silence, and for all the discomfort Louise felt some small part of her restrained herself from breaking it. That part of her--no, all of her lacked the courage to forge on ahead, because she had no idea what she should do next.

Although she had been proud of reaching another year in her life and the maturity that it afforded her, right now she felt very young, very much still just a child in her powerlessness.

Behind her, Louise could hear Celia rising. "I have chores to finish. Please excuse me." With those words, she left the other way, as if she hadn't wanted to move past Lord Pent.

"...Well then, please take a seat." Offering him her old seat on the old outdoor bench, she sat beside him. Their knees nearly touched but she didn't care about propriety, not right now. Though it felt painful to do so, she kept her gaze on his face. "Lord Pent," she tried, wanting nothing more than the power to restore him to good health and greater spirits once more.

Whatever had happened, it didn't matter.

"Louise, let me..." He sighed. "This is what happened."

He told her, and despite what she thought about it not mattering, she listened and listened well, focusing not only on his words but the slight change in expressions that revealed more than his voice, which seemed purposely monotone for the sake of hiding his feelings. However well his voice did that, she could tell that what had happened had so distorted him that he was showing his emotions in ways that had not existed before. The appreciation he felt for the castle clerk Raike, the bitter betrayal that had solidified his heart against his former steward Borenze--these things were easily revealed in the twists of his lips, the way his brows furrowed or plunged downward. But when he spoke of his father's role in the Reglay scandal, she had to keep her hands together, twisting her fingers tightly; if she did not, she would not have been able to help herself from touching his face in the useless effort of smoothing away the hurt that was so apparent there. She succeeded at restraining herself but barely, and she was not proud of it.

"...And so, I will be serving in the kingdom's military efforts for the duration of one full year," he revealed. "Next week I will be entering preliminary battlefield training. It's a light punishment, but I've been led to believe that there is some danger to it. And of course, since I won't be at Reglay, I won't be able to do anything about the fairly malicious feelings against my family name. Raike, my new steward, will do his best, but I fully believe that the sentiment against me is high enough that I won't be returning as Count Reglay once my punishment is complete."

Louise trembled. "But, that was because you had the honor and integrity to keep your father's name clean of the crime. You asked the king to burden you with its black mark..."

"What else could I do?" he asked, his gaze slanted away from her. "My father made a terrible mistake that can't be easily forgiven. He willfully committed this crime in a misguided attempt to protect me. Were he alive, I would not have assumed responsibility. But he has passed on. What use is there in flagellating a dead man's reputation? And besides, the truth of the matter is already out about my father's sins despite my request, but I make a better target because I am alive. Even if I said nothing at all except for the truth, I would be blamed anyway. At least this way I have the peace of mind in knowing that I acted according to my principles."

"Yes, that's true." And, though she worried for him, Louise felt pride at his actions too. He looked at her, and there was something in his eyes that brought low whatever rising feelings she briefly had.

"That being said...this has changed everything. Your father agreed with me, but ultimately the decision lies with you." The kind look on his face was so familiar that she ached to see it, but his words made her uneasy, anxious. "If you agree, I will dissolve the marriage contract."

She stared at him. "...What?"

"It's for the best," he said, his expression maddeningly kind. "My reputation is ruined. I will not be Count Reglay when I return. Because of that, I have nothing to offer you."

"I...did not agree to marry you for these things," Louise began, confused. "I'm only interested in what the man named Pent Martel has to offer."

Lord Pent looked even more confused than she felt, something that caused her pain. Did he think that she was only interested in being Countess Reglay? No matter how much she had studied to be a lady up until now, she still felt distinctly unsuited for it, an assessment she knew the Reglay servants agreed with. "Louise--"

"Lord Pent," and there was a sharpness to her tone that she had not known herself to be capable of, a sharpness that arose from the conversion of her pain into great indignation. "If you can tell me that you do not like me and do not wish to marry me, I will acquiesce to your demand."

"...Well." He looked away, annoyance mixed with something unknown in his profile. "Louise, this is very important. You shouldn't be so stubborn at a time like this."

"How can you say that when you're being so cruel?" He looked at her then, obvious surprise on his face, but she kept on. "What is wrong with being stubborn in the face of opposition? What is wrong with holding on to your convictions during the most desperate times? I did not stand before you and promise you my life only to run at the first sign of danger. A true and good wife would not leave her husband's side, so why should I stray from yours?"

He looked a little pained at this. "That would be because we aren't married, I would think."

Louise frowned. "Then, you should marry me."

"...Right now?"

She only stared at him, her emotions whirling within her but unwilling to stand down.

"...Aha." Then, inexplicably, he began to laugh. She watched him, though she wished he would not be so amused at such a time. When finally he calmed down, his forehead resting on the back of his hands, she could see the smile on his face even though his head was bowed. "I needed that," he said with a sigh before he looked up at her, propping his chin on the backs of his hands so that he could do so with more ease, or so she figured. "Then, I won't dissolve the marriage contract. Of course, I can't marry you right now either. I'm...not prepared for that just yet."

"Neither am I," she admitted shyly.

"But I want you to know that I, well, I like you very much," he said, and the confirmation of his feelings brought within her the most uplifting feeling. He looked a little nervous as he continued with, "So, because of that, once I return, whatever our roles in society may be..."

Louise smiled. "Yes, I'll wait."

"I'm sorry that you have to. I realize I've put you into an awkward position in having to accept a year's separation, but all things considering I suppose it could be worse." His words reminded her that she had made a promise, and her head snapped up in shock--how could she ever forget?

"But, Lord Pent, can't I go with you? I, I promised you that I would protect you, and I--"

"You shouldn't have to protect me from my punishment." He took her hands in his. "Nor should you join me."

"But--"

"I'll be fine. I promise."

She stilled. She could not fulfill her promise of protecting him, so how could he...? "I made a promise, too," were all the words she could find within herself. Lord Pent, showing his great kindness, said nothing at all, only holding her hands within his as if he were imparting his uncommon warmth to her in lieu of all else. It was a cold comfort, but she had not the presence of mind to shy away from it.

And when he withdrew, all she wanted to do was to cling to it.

"Louise, I have to go."

She closed her eyes. "Must you?"

"Unfortunately." When she opened her eyes, she saw that the smile on his lips was ill-matched with the sadness in his eyes. "Of course I will write, though I won't be able to send anything until I'm settled."

"I'll write too! So please, Lord Pent, take care of yourself." She felt the telltale prickle of tears behind her eyes, her body's betrayal against the strong front she was trying to raise so that he might go away without bearing the brunt of her emotions, and she summoned all the stores of strength she had ever carried within her to do so. "You must come back unharmed, since I won't be able to protect you..."

"I will. Of course I will. I have to admit that I am not quite fond of the idea of suffering physical violence." He smiled in what she assumed was an encouraging manner and she tried to follow his lead, though she felt that she might soon fail. "Louise, take care."

He rose, and she with him. "Lord Pent!" she called, knowing all too well that she was reaching her limit. He turned. "Please, if there is anything I can do for Reglay..."

"My steward will be in contact with you. Don't worry yourself over it too much. It might be a hopeless cause." He paused and she waited, the distinct feeling behind their shared hesitance in speaking that of having to end the moment. The tears that were beginning to well in Louise's eyes made her the loser here, and she smiled before she lowered her head.

"Goodbye, Lord Pent."

He did not move for the longest moment. "Louise...goodbye." And with those words, he reentered her house. She did not follow him; she could not, never so long as the tears continued unabated, never if she could not let him go without a smile.

One year ago, a girl promised to protect the young man before her with her life. Today, she learned that her promise meant nothing, for she did not have the strength to overcome a crime set into motion years before their first meeting. Her convictions, the strength of her heart, her pride...they did not have the power to protect him. And knowing this, she wept.

Louise wept.

-end-

This is an end, but it is not the end; we are now roughly halfway through the short story series. I will be taking a break to recharge and work on Legion of Honor, but I intend to bring out a couple stories in the meantime--Story Alert is your friend! Everyone, thank you for your support and I hope you've enjoyed what you've read. Comments and questions are, as always, welcome!


	13. Sprig and Sapling II

Bouquet

(C) Intelligent Studios and Nintendo

-0-

The Sprig II: Carolina Syringa  
(_disappointment_)

It was rare indeed when Louise found herself spending time alone with her dear father--now more so than ever. In the days following Lord Pent's departure, she had taken to finding solace in her miserable state, so much the better by herself than in the company of her parents, who made well-meaning but entirely unhelpful comments. They did not understand, could not sympathize with the extent of her pain, and thus she withdrew until that time when she had separated from her emotions and could then explain them without feeling like a babbling child.

Oh, but wasn't she one in the end? Children could not do a thing for others; they were not expected to protect anything, or to live up to the promises that bound two people together now and forever. Lord Pent could leave with his head held high and his dignity in full bloom by making a choice no one could have expected him to make, but the same scenario left her with no choice at all but to accept her powerlessness, lower her head to hide her tears of shame, and let him go. What does one call a person who makes a promise they are unable to keep? The person to whom the promise was given to may well be disappointed--and rightfully so--but oh, how much worse the humiliation for the one whose words meant nothing at all! Oh, how dearly she wished for power enough to fill her hollow words, if only so that she could trust in them again...

"Louise, are you well?"

"Ah, Father." Lifting her eyes from her fixed stare at the delicate threads within the grain of her father's desk, she studied her father's face for a moment; finding it bare of an outright answer to the request she had brought to him, she pursed her lips, quite unable to completely suppress her worry and impatience. "Have you come to a decision?"

Her father watched her, his clear blue eyes the color of the spring sky outside--the same sky she would be enjoying on any other day, were those days not marred with Lord Pent's absence. "I have a difficult time agreeing to such a thing," he said after a moment, his tone painfully, spitefully gentle. "You can understand why, can't you?"

If she could pretend ignorance, Louise thought it would be better. Unfortunately, she had played audience to his beliefs once too often for such a lie. "But I must go, Father," she pleaded, hating the reedy, childish whine trembling through her words, ill-made thread to the argument she wished to weave. "The steward of Reglay specifically asked for my help. If I do not go, Lord Pent will be divested of his title by the other lords."

"I understood that," her father said, all hateful patience, rock-like and without sympathy. "But I fail to understand why he should continue being Count Reglay."

"B-because..." After a moment, Louise looked away, unable to bear her father's impertinently kind look any longer. It did nothing short of piercing her heart, how he could patiently bear her requests and then turn them away with a single, reasonable line. Lord Pent did not like being Count Reglay, after all. He might even be happier having the title stripped from him. That she was trying so hard to keep the title as his...wasn't she the cruel one, in the end? Knowing his wishes, and yet ignoring them for no reason at all than the fact that she believed it was his and he should keep it.

"Louise, let it go," said her father. "He isn't worth this."

Her back went rigid. "What is Lord Pent unworthy of?"

Her father rubbed his chin, the short blond bristles of his beard making a sound not unlike the crinkling sound of crisp summer grass being flattened. "Aramis became Count Alloway when he was twenty, and he took to it well because he was properly trained. That boy admitted to me that he focused more on his magic studies rather than how to be an effective leader. He is not any sort of leader; in fact, I would say that he is selfish."

"But he is repenting for that!" Louise exclaimed, the links of her fingers as they wound together iron-hard. "He is repenting with his life!"

"It should have never gotten to that point. People have suffered due to his neglect, and his one life is not an equal match to all of theirs."

"But he didn't know what his father and steward were doing! He didn't--"

"Ignorance is not an excuse," her father said quietly. "At his level, as a ruling noble, ignorance is a crime."

Her father's words were a knife that drew tears rather than blood, but it hurt all the same to reveal them. Here, again, she was shown as the foolish little girl she wanted so desperately to be anything but, and knowing that she could not effectively argue for Lord Pent, though she believed in his goodness and that he could make right what had gone wrong had he only the chance, made her wonder what use she was after all. Perhaps none, and yet...

She closed her eyes. "I asked you what he was unworthy of."

There was a pause, and then: "I think you know."

When she opened her eyes, her father was revealed before her. Here, now, he was not the man of two years before, that good, decent man who thought it was vital to teach his child that being a woman should not deter her from her goals, that she could achieve anything she wanted to do because she was more than a face and a body. That same father strove to teach her the inner workings of business and property, not only because she was the child of his blood but because he loved to help her become even better at all the things she so liked. From the beginning, he had supported her love of archery, even going so far as to have a private range built for her as well as finding the best archer in the county to teach her well. He taught her the values of hard work, compassion, and the beauty of living a modest life under the principles of Lighter Elimineanism. She had always imagined that she would prefer to be struck down rather than go against her dear father.

But she had never imagined that her father would ever travel the same path as her maternal grandfather, the same man who had done everything up to attempting to drag her mother out of Alloway by force rather than to approve of her mother's marriage. Even if her father would not say it directly, Louise understood that his disapproval was not wholly based on reason. He was looking down on Lord Pent, just as Grandfather had once and still continued to look down on him.

She never thought her father could do such a thing. That he now was doing so stripped the varnish from the man she had always envisioned him to be--her beloved father was naught but human in the end, a good man who could and would let his prejudices blind him. Here, now, her father was another man, and she was a girl two years older. She could no longer hold his hand and trail behind him in happy ignorance, even if it were the safest way.

Louise wielded a bow not to cower, but to support.

"Father," she started, her voice high and strong and sounding, she imagined, very nearly like her mother's, "I will be going to Reglay. Even if you are against it, even if--I can't abandon him. I made a promise."

Frowning, her father shook his head. "I won't agree to this. It's beyond foolishness to go so far to support a boy who has no inclination to be a count, especially when has no talent or interest in it. That you still wish to marry him despite the fact that he told me he would release you from the marriage contract is already bad enough as is, but this is beyond the pale. What exactly do you think you can do for him in Reglay? Surely the people there are already set against him."

Standing took some effort, but she craved fresh air from this den of negativity and endless questions she had no answers for. "I don't know, but I can't stay here and do nothing at all. I have to try, because Lord Pent is also doing his best."

"Louise, I just.." That her father looked older than his nearly thirty-five years was an understatement at the moment, and guilt caught hold of her heart and would not let go. "I thought you didn't love him. I could understand this behavior if you did, though I would disapprove, but this inconsiderate obstinacy is completely unlike you."

Indignation stiffened her spine and made fists of her hands as she spun away from her father. "I don't need to love him to believe in him." With those words thrown behind her, she left her father's study.

She left for Reglay a week later. Her father did not see her off, and she did not wait in hopes that he would.

The Sapling II: Spruce Pine  
(_farewell_)

"Not bad."

With a small, careful sigh, Pent lowered his right hand. The target, one hundred paces away, had been obliterated by the ten rapidly cast spells that were part of his endurance exam. He thinned his lips, uncomfortable with the sight. Intellectually he knew magic had always been developed as a destructive force, yet...to him, magic was not just a weapon.

It had never been one, not until now.

"From all the tests you've completed, your average is roughly between our first and second rank for officers. You could use some improvement, but we haven't time for that," Lady Jacqueline, lieutenant general of the magic division of the Etrurian Army, said as she tilted her head in that peculiar way he had learned was her only 'tell' for giving approval. "I'm willing to recommend you start as a captain. Do you have any questions?"

He paused, unsure whether he should ask what exactly a captain did, and then decided not to waste any more of her time. From her immaculate uniform and pulled-back dark hair to her swift, sure movements, she exuded an aura of militaristic perfection. In these training fields of the magic division headquarters in the capital, she looked completely at home. That was unsurprising, as he knew her to be the daughter of Mage General Kolar, Duke Seine; there was no doubt she would become the next mage general once her father retired in a few years, even if she was young and a woman. For his part, Pent didn't mind that she was his trainer, though he wished he knew why she looked passingly familiar sometimes. With her tall, slender frame and unsmiling face, she didn't look a thing like Louise or any noblewoman from Reglay. Sometimes he also thought she was annoyed or put out by him, but she was unnervingly fair besides one or two looks of exasperation.

In the end he decided on a safer question, one that didn't reveal his ignorance of the military. "When will I know where I will be transferred to?"

"A messenger will be dispatched to Reglay once the exam results have been thoroughly checked." She paused, tightening her white gloves. "But I suspect it will be to Missur, since our trade routes there are often troubled by pirates."

A lingering sense of unease rippled inside him--would he be sent for pirate extermination? To use the gift of magic that reared its head every so often within the Reglay lineage...to kill? Despite his feelings, he made sure to keep his expression mild, though it was a bit harder than usual. "I understand. I'll have to go back home, then?"

Lady Jacqueline shifted. "You thought you wouldn't be able to return one last time?"

"...I thought perhaps it was necessary to send me to where I was needed, post haste."

"You are Count Reglay," she countered, her expression one of bemusement. "One would think you would be vital to your lands, no matter the circumstances that have led you here."

"I suppose."

"After all," she continued, "your fiancée would surely want a proper goodbye."

Pent said nothing, and after a day at his Aquleia home he made preparations to return to Castle Reglay.

-0-

The day after he returned to Reglay from the palace after receiving his punishment, Pent had made Raike his new steward. They both knew that it would be a temporary position, but Raike was still making plans to keep the title of Count Reglay within the proper lineage for reasons that were beyond Pent.

"I admire your loyalty," he commented when his new steward bombarded him with ideas not two minutes after he entered his office, "but don't you think it's slightly misplaced?"

"No, not at all," his steward said while shuffling official-looking papers. "I've also sent a letter to Lady Louise to request her assistance."

Without lifting his head from the document he had been trying to read, Pent remarked, "I wish you hadn't done that."

"You did say that she was willing to help."

"I did, but only to relay her feelings. I don't recall ordering you to ask anything of her."

There was a pause, a long one in which neither man even dared rustle a paper, before Raike said, "Do you not trust her, milord?"

"It has nothing to do with trust," Pent responded before he signed the document, only looking up after the fact. "Louise is...I don't see why she should be dragged into this."

"She will be Countess Reglay, so it wouldn't be wrong for her to involve herself," Raike said as he handed over another paper. "This one is for the renewal of permits for the winemakers."

"How many more?"

"Just seven, and then we'll start on the city permits."

"And I want to continue being Count Reglay?"

Pent had meant it as a joke, albeit a slightly bitter one, but when he noticed his steward's face redden in suppressed emotion he realized how stupid he had been. "Milord, if you think my efforts are truly wasted--"

"I don't. I only wonder why you need to struggle to this extent."

"And Lady Louise as well?"

"Has she responded yet?"

His steward looked disturbed. "No. I had expected an answer by now."

"I don't expect that her father would let her." Then, unnecessarily, "He doesn't quite approve of me."

"He doesn't?" Raike's face had lost much of its reddened glow from earlier, but now Pent could see a hint of it there again. "Are you thinking that he would approve of you more if you were to quit House Reglay?"

Had he been a less private person, Pent would have long ended all these questions with the truth. However, the memory of Louise's face as she struggled to smile for him was one that seemed too private to be revealed anywhere beyond that day and that time. He would not dare attempt a second goodbye, knowing how Louise threw the whole of herself into each and every moment--that day, that moment had been enough for him to bear. For her to come here and work to keep him as Count Reglay while he was far away and unable to do anything at all was unbearable to him. That she would put herself in such a place to suffer time and time again to fight his battles (battles he wasn't inclined to do all that much about, at that) spoke volumes about her valiant dedication, and even more about what was lacking within him.

The Reglay nobles played by their own rules and had not an ounce of sympathy for anyone going against them. He knew this intimately. Louise, being in an even worse position, would bear the full brunt of their anger, disgust, and jealousy. Her smile would not thwart them; her bravery would only rally them to more depraved lows. They could not be beaten, only negotiated with until they had pared down every last strip of one's soul. He knew this intimately.

They had been some of the many who had laughed at her during the bridal selection over a year ago. If she did not know this now, she would soon, intimately.

"I wish you hadn't done it," he repeated, and after that there was no more sound other than the shuffling of papers that never seemed to end.

-0-

How do you say goodbye to a home you had never felt was yours to begin with?

As he stared up at the portrait of his lady mother, proudly displayed above the main staircase in the foyer, Pent wondered why he should even bother. He was not well acquainted with the castle, less so with the parents who had beget him. Count and Countess Reglay, no more than images in a cold keep. He must have walked by this portrait a thousand times, but Lady Catherine's words were all he knew of his mother. An arrogant, posturing woman who cared only for the title of Countess Reglay, a woman who would throw away anyone gracious enough to help her just to maintain her own reputation...

Pent turned away, aware of the curl of disgust tugging down on the corner of his lips. Though Lady Catherine had reprimanded him for taking sides without fully investigating for himself the truth, he could not budge from his stance. As someone whose mindset would only allow him to cultivate a few close relationships, the act of betrayal was anathema to him. He had thought, perhaps naively, that the same was true of all people. Now, there existed an image of his mother in his mind, and it was not anything like the beautiful countess in her stylish gown and glittering jewelry.

He could not say he disliked her, exactly, only that he was far more inclined to appreciate Lady Catherine more.

A gallery could be found on the first floor, within the west wing. He did not often go, usually because he had no time to visit, but after turning from the sight of his mother's portrait he felt compelled to come down to this lonely part of a castle too big for its own good. Some of his ancestors had been art lovers, whether dilettantes or outright connoisseurs, and the works they had either purchased or created were housed here. Perhaps more importantly, the gallery was home to the official portraits of each and every Count Reglay, minus himself.

_How apropos_, he mused.

He did not linger long here; nothing could be found among the grim-faced ancestors who made up his family line. To a one they all were unable to smile, their countenances bearing their sense of self-importance far more easily than anything resembling humility, compassion, thoughtfulness, or any other human trait. But of course they had no interest in revealing such things in the images that would confer upon them immortality, and in a sense Pent could understand. They had been leaders, advisors to kings, worth more than any one or a hundred commoners. What need would they have of humanity when they were persons of lordly caliber?

Of course, his father looked no different. It was perhaps a form of art to make all these men of disparate features all the same in attitude, because Pent could still remember his father enough to know that the former Count Reglay was not like these others. His father still confused him to this day, but no matter how bitter he felt he could not confer such marked arrogance to his sire.

He should not have come here, he understood. He could not hope to find his father here amongst the portraits of the dead.

"I don't hate you," Pent said, his voice sounding odd to him in this empty room. "Not even now. What I hate is what you did. Didn't you understand that you were trading away our title and position for my sake? I thought...that those were the most important things to you."

Oh, he shouldn't have come here at all. He shouldn't be doing this. He knew this intellectually, yet--

"I don't hate you, I just..."

He bit his lip, closed his eyes, and tried to force the old, painful feeling out of his chest.

-0-

And before he knew it, a week had passed and Pent was leaving, this time perhaps for good.

"Milord, I should tell you this now," his steward said at his back. Out of courtesy, Pent stopped his stride and turned around. The background to the other man was the portrait of his mother, but Pent kept his eyes level with Raike's face. "I received a response from Lady Louise. She will be here in a few days."

The thought of Louise at the castle, ready to fight on his behalf, made such an evocative picture that Pent couldn't help but pause momentarily. Shaking his head in a slight, hesitant movement, he asked, "Is that so?"

"You always knew she would."

"No, I can't say that," Pent responded, though it was a lie. "But while she's here..."

Raike smiled. "Everything will be taken care of, milord. You only need to worry about yourself."

"As long as you won't send me paperwork to complete between battles, I think I will be fine."

"While you are Count Reglay, it should be expected that you have duties to fulfill."

Smiling, Pent turned away. "Do what you have to."

"I intend to, milord." As Pent began to walk away, he heard his steward ask one final question. "Are you to be stationed in Missur as expected?"

"Actually, no," Pent said as he turned, raising his official summons in his right hand. "It's to the Western Isles."

-end-

Welcome to the second half of Bouquet! As you've no doubt noticed, this story has promoted, gaining a subtitle that I've long since wanted to add; while this series is chiefly about Pent and Louise's courtship, there are many other relationships appearing within the main story that I think gives their story extra body, if that makes sense. Judging by my notes, this second half may be slightly longer than the first due to its format, but I hope to have this serial completed by the beginning of May. You'll be seeing a story (or a part of a story) biweekly until the end of the first two-parter, and then we'll have to see as I'm not only taking a full load of classes but working as well. I hope you'll continue to enjoy this short story serial, and thank you for reading!

Also, if you're still craving more of my writing, check the front page of the FE section today!


	14. Two Blossoms

Bouquet

(C) Nintendo and Intelligent Systems

-0-

Two Blossoms Diverged From A Yellow-Green Stem: Lavender, Saint John's Wort  
(_they cannot help their distrust and animosity_)

Once again, Amy was fighting with her husband in his new office in Reglay Castle. Or, as he liked to put it, 'airing out their differences.' But this was nothing like doing the laundry, and so she not only felt put upon by his request, but condescended to as well. What was worse, he was ignoring her complaints as well, which made her wonder, not for the first time, why he had to make it so difficult to love him sometimes.

Finally, she had enough. With a flick of her dark green hair, she glared at him through her too-long bangs and fought to keep her voice level as she said, "When we first married, you told me that I would never have to fight again. You told me that Etruria is a much different place from Ilia, and that you would make sure I would do nothing more dangerous than watching over our children." Annoyingly, her voice hitched, forcing her to look away as she tried to regain some semblance of the reasonable, unflappable pegasus knight she had once been. "What changed, Raike?"

Her husband had the decency to attempt to appear contrite, though his mottled complexion revealed that his Lycian passion was still roused. "When I was chosen to be the new steward--"

"Stop that!" she yelled, slashing out with one hand. "That's your excuse for _everything_ now! You didn't even get a pay raise from the promotion, so just stop it. I'm not impressed."

"I don't know how I'm supposed to talk about any of this without referring to my job," he protested, his cheeks darkening even further. A pinprick of guilt jabbed at her and she lowered her hand and crossed her arms.

"I just don't want to hear that word right now."

"Fine. Fine. I just..." He ran both hands through his thick auburn hair. "You're the only person I can trust to do this."

Amy looked at him as if she could put all her doubts into her stare. "Protect her? Raike, there's a whole regiment of castle guards. Use _them_."

"I can't. They're all male."

"Look, if she's really that type of girl, why did Count Reglay pick her as--"

Her husband buried his face into his hands. "Oh God, did you really just say that?"

"I don't know what you want me to think!" she burst out, well and truly frustrated with this stupid argument that never got anywhere. "Whether you don't trust her, or you don't trust the knights, whichever it is, it doesn't excuse the fact that your plan isn't going to work! You can't send out this little half-noble girl and have her ingratiate herself with barons and viscounts who want nothing more than to strip her fiancé of his title and take it for themselves. Or..." She tried to school her face into something less skeptical, but she had the feeling it wasn't working when he looked at her and frowned. "Do you think it will?"

He turned away from her; she could see the skin of the back of one hand stretched tight over his knuckles as he made a fist against the top of his desk and the anger inside of her stilled. "I don't, all right? I don't think she can do much at all. I'm just using her as a stopgap to buy some time so I can think of a better plan. All right? You win."

After a moment of silence hung in the air in response to his outburst, Amy cracked and approached him, placing a hand on his back. "I'm sorry," she murmured.

Raike didn't move. "I am too. I'm just...I want to save House Reglay."

"But why? I thought you said that he didn't seem to want to be the count anymore."

"Yes, I know. But I can see it in him that he could be a good lord. I'd trust him over any other candidate. I want to see him reach that point where he will want to be Count Reglay, not just because he was the heir but because he is suited for it."

"And how long will that take?" Amy asked, letting herself lean against him, her forehead resting between his shoulder blades. "How long will we have to wait for you?"

He began to turn around. "Amy--"

"No, I deserve an answer." Her hand curled into a fist against his solid back as she straightened her posture to stare at the corner of his profile. Once, a long time ago, she could have spent all day looking at him, but they had both grown up since then. "How long? How long will it take until you can bother to stumble out of your office and come home to see your sons? How long until I get to have my husband back? I know Castle Reglay is nice and your office is certainly much better now, but at this rate Antony and Derrin are going to forget your face."

"That's not funny," he said, looking at her over his shoulder with an indignant expression she felt he didn't have a right to wear. She stepped away from him and crossed her arms.

"I wasn't trying to be."

The reddened blotches on his face seemed to fade away, leaving only pale skin, though he was still several shades darker than her Ilian-white complexion. "Listen, how about I make a deal with you? If you go and protect Lady Louise on her travels through Reglay, I'll keep the kids here with me. That will give Mom some time to herself, too."

To this, she could only give him a skeptical look. "You really think you can work with a five-year-old and a three-year-old running around?"

"Well," he said, half-smiling now, "they're my sons. I'll live."

"Don't you dare foist them off onto the housekeeping," she said, grinning as his eyes widened.

"I wouldn't dare. My own wife doesn't trust me now?"

Her smile tapered at this. "It isn't you I don't trust. I've heard things about this 'Lady Louise' from the maids, and I really can't understand the count's taste. She really doesn't sound suitable as anyone's wife, let alone someone as blandly polite as he is. I mean, he's still a count."

"Bland, huh?" Raike had an oddly thoughtful look on his face. "No, he's just quiet. If you stay around him for a while, he actually has this really dry sense of humor."

"Dry? That's more like inedible, isn't it?"

"See, he's like that, like you sometimes. But what were you saying about the maids and Lady Louise?"

Amy shrugged. "She's unpleasant. She's inconsiderate to the maids, hasn't a thought in her head and only pretends to be nice, ate so much that she could barely fit into her dress during that birthday party--which just makes more work for others--and her mother and maid were both very rude. I think only the cook likes her, and if she's as fat as the maids say she is..."

"Fat?" There was an incredulous look on her husband's face. "She's tiny. Shapely, but still short. I remember seeing her at this martial arts festival down in Alloway, back when Lord Pent went to see her. She's incredibly skilled with the bow, quite graceful. And we both know about the bridal challenge a year ago." He smiled. "There are better choices for Countess Reglay, we all know that, but I trust in Lord Pent's decision. He's the one who has to marry her, after all."

"Hm..." Shaking her head, Amy glanced at her husband out of the corner of her eye. "'Shapely'? 'Graceful'? Should I be worried?"

He laughed. "Amaranth, you're the only woman for me. Anyway, will you finally see her now? I can only keep her in her room for so long before she starts getting suspicious as to why she hasn't been sent out to do something useful yet." To this, she shrugged, wishing that the feeling of Raike getting his way didn't weigh down on her shoulders like she had been defeated. With a smile on his face, he walked up to her and let her get a good grip on his elbow before he made his way to the door, neither of them speaking as they made their way to the east hall, where tradition held that House Reglay's guests of honor should be placed. During the reprieve between the births of her first and second sons, when money was tight after the death of Raike's father because her husband's job as a castle clerk didn't pay enough for their little family, Amy remembered cleaning the rooms after barons and viscounts had departed and marveled at how filthy such noble guests could be. Maybe she shouldn't have been surprised, as her entire life had been spent cleaning up after the messes nobility left behind, but she had to admit that she preferred being a chambermaid rather than a pegasus knight.

It had cost her too much to fight for her country. She was reminded of this every time she had to cling to her husband's arm, feeling the dull ache in her left thigh as she limped beside him.

How much more would it cost her to fight for some half-noble girl-child she couldn't even bring herself to believe in?

There was a guard at the girl's room, one whom Amy recognized as soon as she laid eyes on him. He seemed to recognize her too, if that little sneer on his face told her anything. It didn't bother her; a lot of Etrurians had no love lost for pegasus knights, even though their government depended so much on them to fight the kingdom's wars. Even a crippled one like herself was worth more than a guard who couldn't do much more than stand in front of a door, and at this thought she allowed herself a small smile--though she no longer had much pride in her past occupation. The guard's sneer lengthened, but he jolted when her husband asked, "Has Lady Louise been inside all day?"

"She said she would wait for you to call on her," the guard said. Amy noticed that he didn't call her husband 'Master Raike' like everyone had referred to the last steward, something that irritated her even though she understood their reasons. Many servants of a lord were naturally jealous if one of their own were to rise in status so quickly, and the fact that Raike had done so by informing the count of his predecessor's crimes probably made him enemies as a betrayer and usurper--even though they would be equally as nasty had he said nothing at all and the embezzlement had been discovered by another way. It made her wonder, not for the first time, why he had to try so hard, although secretly she loved him all the more for his sense of honor.

"Oh, she has?" Raike said, a lingering note of surprise in his tone. "I understand. Thank you for your patience. Please excuse us, we'll not be long." He knocked on the door. "Lady Louise? This is the steward of the castle. I've come to have you meet with someone."

"Please come in," a muffled voice called from the other side of the heavy wooden door. Amy steeled herself, ready to meet the count's fiancée, this strange shape-changing girl.

All the same, Amy wasn't sure she would have ever expected _this_.

In the impossibly bright room her eyes first fell upon the first of the two girls in the room, this one tiny and blonde, dressed in a simple white frock--she looked like one of those little, perfect dolls that cost upwards of thousands of gold in Aquleia's most well-known boutiques. She was sitting at a table with another girl, this one a little older and with such an elegant nose and brow that it was hard for Amy to believe that the copper-haired girl was not an equal companion, even with the apron she wore. There were only the two of them, no retinue, no mother or father, and the idea of these two lovely doll-children venturing out into Reglay to plead on the behalf of Count Reglay made Amy feel somewhat...anxious. She looked away at them, and when she caught sight of the unstrung wooden bow on the simple white bedspread she nearly flinched at the memory of an arrow's sting. Aiming her eyes elsewhere, she noticed the slight frown of concern on the blonde's face and felt embarrassed to have her reaction noticed.

"Lady Louise," Raike started, "I'd like you to meet my wife, Amaranth." Amy fixed a stare on him until he wilted enough to correct himself. "But, uh, she prefers to be called Amy. Um, she's a former pegasus knight, and from now on she'll be your personal guard whenever you leave the castle."

The little blonde girl, Lady Louise, looked strangely delighted as she clutched her hands together. "A pegasus knight? I've never met one before! It's a pleasure to meet you!" Gesturing to the other girl, she said, "This is Celia. She's my dearest friend, and she's quite good with a staff. I'm an archer, though I'm still just a novice, but please allow us to assist you if we do run into trouble. Though, I'll pray to the blessed saint that we keep well." She smiled widely. "Thank you for your trouble, Madame Amy."

Amy glanced her husband, who was smiling at her in such a way that she could practically read his thoughts as if the reddening blotches on his face wrote them out, before she offered a hesitant smile at both girls. "Well met, Lady Louise, Miss Celia. Let's do our best for Count Reglay's sake."

Lady Louise's smile never faltered, although Amy could see the determination in the cast of the young girl's face. "Yes, let's."

-0-

_I hate this damn rock and everyone on it._

"--the patrol of the east side was clear--"

_Except for my own girls, of course. But the Etrurians can go and disappear into the fog for all I care._

"--noticed something unusual in the north, so with your help, Commander--"

_If we didn't need the money so badly, I would've convinced Cassie not to bother with the Etrurians' new attempt at colonization._

"--also, there's the new captain coming in today, so I expect they'll foist his training onto us--"

_At this point I can only hope they won't renew our contract for yet another year. Maybe if I can get the third wing to replace us, if Althea will agree to it..._

"Um, Commander Leto?"

Leto of Edessa opened one eye, knowing full well just how intimidating most people saw her black eyes--even one of her own squad's sub-commanders, and they had worked together for years. Gracia was stunned into silence, which suited Leto just fine. "What?"

Gracia, pale and gray-haired, though Leto had heard enough times throughout the years that she preferred it called 'lavender', glanced at the other pegasus knights of their wing before taking a deep breath. "Commander, were you listening to any of our reports?"

"Pick the most interesting one and repeat it, thanks."

"...The Etrurians have a new captain coming today. This one's a mage, so he might actually live longer than the last one."

"Not long enough for us to bother depending on him," was Leto's succinct reply. A mage was better than the last three idiot cavaliers, if only because she could expect that the mages could actually read, but after two years and six captains and three commanders replaced on the Etrurian side of things she didn't bother having much hope in anyone that could be dredged up for the position. "So, what's this one's crime?"

Gracia shook her head. "We haven't heard. His record is locked down tight."

"A noble," Leto muttered, and in response the tent was filled with the groans and sighs of her squad. Nobles were the worst, combining the kind of arrogance only the entitled could muster with stupidity that would be funny if they were on the enemy's side. Since they weren't, it was just aggravating. "Our loyalty may have been bought by the Etrurians, but we won't be going out of our way to make sure this one lives. Criminals have to do their time, right girls?"

Everyone nodded. Out of a full wing of eleven, they had managed their losses very well within the last two years. Ordinarily they would be more than willing to lay their lives down for the sake of their employer, but after Leto lost Patricia three months ago and was berated in front of the entire camp because Patricia hadn't saved a captain from a crippling injury, even though she had protected the fat pig from dying... No, Leto wasn't going to endure another insult of that magnitude. A pegasus knight's life was worth just as much as an Etrurian's, and if her employers couldn't see that then she was going to protect her squad all by herself.

She wasn't commander of the second wing of the Ilian Pegasus Knights Brigade just because of her skills in battle.

Her other sub-commander, a loan from the fifth wing that Leto had never quite found the time to pay back, entered the tent, her long dark purple hair flowing behind her. Yulie could hit a target fifty yards away with a javelin, but to this day she couldn't figure out how to tie her hair back like any sane knight should, irritating Leto every time she saw the young woman. "Commander, the Etrurians want you. Their new captain just arrived."

"What does he look like?" asked Cammie, one of the unranked knights of the squad. Yulie giggled.

"Oh, he's cute. Just like Captain Justin, before he got that hand axe to the face."

Leto rolled her eyes when she heard the admiring squeals after that assessment. Before she left the tent, she turned just enough to look over her shoulder at her squad. "If he's that attractive, imagine the crime he must've committed to get here," she said in a pleasant tone of voice. It was a nice feeling to leave with their exclamations of disgust rising behind her, because they all knew about the Etrurian commander's predilection for visiting the local 'inn' every time the camp needed supplies, as well as the crime of indiscretion that caused him to have to separate from his wife and three kids and lead a hopeless campaign in the Western Isles for the last five months. Hopeless men for a hopeless campaign--so what did that say about her and her wing, whose only attachment to this fool's campaign was a princely annual sum?

Honestly, if she were general of the Ilian Knights Union and not Cassie, Leto would've made the same choice and side with the Etrurians--aside from the moral issues regarding occupation, the Western Isles had nothing but a half-wild group of warriors. The Etrurians, however, had all the time in the world. Even if this campaign failed, eventually Etruria would gain upon their meager takings of the island of Fibernia and eventually their influence would consume all of the three islands. Being the descendants of the berserker Durban meant nothing compared to the might of the most prosperous country in Elibe. But Leto did pity the resistance fighting them, because they didn't seem to understand just how bad their position was. Right now, however, she imagined that the Western Isles resistance was feeling pretty good about themselves, because Etruria still believed they could throw poorly-trained low-risk criminals at the islands and they would be conquered with little risk to their 'useful' citizens. If it weren't for the pegasus knights they had hired in the beginning of this campaign, Etruria would have already realized their blunder and moved appropriately, but she suspected that whoever of the three generals in charge of this entire outing was either massively incompetent--oh, she was just _shocked_ at the presumption--or playing this for his own sick amusement and to simply have something to do.

_Lettie, I can only entrust this mission to you. Whatever you need to do, I leave it to your discretion. You're the only one who I know will protect our people._

So she did. The aegis of Ilian loyalty was still impenetrable, she made sure of that, but she also tried to ensure none of her girls would needlessly die for the sake of a cruel, narcissistic foreign general.

The rest of the camp was as disorganized as the people within it, though at least the afternoon summer sun was keeping the fog at bay enough to see where she was walking, and she didn't spare either the grounds or the Etrurians a glance, forcing herself not to react as someone whistled long and low. Her natural instinct to find and bury her fist into the pervert's face was tempered by the calming belief that one day soon all of these criminals would find their end at the sharpened blades of a fighter's axe--the sort of divine retribution only a heathen like her could expect. It took some time, thanks to the haphazard display of tents, to find her way to the commander's tent, but when she did she walked past the guards and entered without a word. Commander Michael, her equal even if he never thought so, raised an eyebrow at her entrance, while his lieutenant, some weaselly-looking creep whose name she kept forgetting, kept his eyes firmly below her face. Between them stood the new captain, a slender young man more or less possessing a masculine beauty, and Leto had to remind herself to talk to her girls later about not seducing the new captain. Two years away from home with only criminals and battles to occupy themselves with could make anybody jump at a novelty. At any rate, his looks didn't bother her half as much as what else she could See. All magic users had auras from which their overall strength could be discerned by other magic users and pegasus knights; she could See he had all the magical power of a wet candle, and that alone almost made her turn around and leave.

"Well, well, thank you for gracing us with your presence, Leto," the Etrurian commander drawled; he never bothered to respect her after she rebuffed his advances. _It really must be a shame to have to pay for his fun_, Leto thought, hiding her smile. "This is Pent Martel, our new captain. Pent, this is Leto, commander of the pegasus knights attached to us. Ilians don't have family names, you see." The weaselly lieutenant grinned, as if Leto hadn't heard petty little insults about parentage before.

"That's right. We don't believe in separating ourselves like that. We're all one big family depending on each other to survive," she returned with a smile.

"I see," Captain Pent said, actually nodding thoughtfully. "That sounds nice, considering what I've heard about Ilia's extreme climate."

Her own surprise was hidden by a wider smile as the flutter of shock crossed Commander Michael's face--must be a shame to him, realizing just how much of a fool his newest captain was. "...Anyway, Leto, since we have important matters to discuss, go show the captain around."

Leto bit down on her retort, because Etrurians loved to whine and complain if they noticed that someone didn't like them the way they believed they deserved, and waved for Captain Naive to follow her. Once they were both out of the commander's tent, she gestured to the camp before them, looking for all in the world like a cruel trick rather than a proper military campaign. In the distance, mountains could be seen; behind them was the Maltein Strait and northern Etruria. The original commander, long since deceased, had brilliantly planned this camp so that the fog would roll in from behind them, except that the air currents this far north were so sudden that the fog tended to cover the entire area at once, leading to fog-of-war situations she wouldn't wish on her worst enemy in all of the Ilian mercenary companies. This was another reason why they had been stuck in this area for the last two years, but no one in the Etrurian command cared about her opinions and stayed in the same position. "This is the camp," she stated. "Good luck getting around." With that, she began to walk away.

"Pardon me, but is that all?" Captain Naive asked. She glanced behind her shoulder.

"We pegasus knights have our own area to ourselves. We don't linger in the Etrurian army's zone if we can help it. Your command thinks that we're hired to do all tasks for them, but in actuality what we do is fight. We are not your maids, your mommies, or your tour guides. If you need help getting around, there are plenty of low-ranking 'soldiers' to assist you." She smiled. "Is that all?"

The Etrurian captain looked far more serious now. It was a good look for him. "Commander Leto, have I perhaps done something to offend you?"

"Me?" Leto brushed some of her hair out of her eyes, then took out her hair tie and began to redo her bun. "I'm a pegasus knight. I've been one for over half my life. Through my connection with my pegasus, I have enough magical energy within me to See just how powerful you really are. You're a weakling of a mage who barely understands that a fire spell is supposed to be aimed away from you, and yet you're responsible for other people's lives. You'll be lucky to live six months, not to talk of getting off of this island alive." She sneered at him as his eyes narrowed in either confusion or burgeoning anger--as if this whelp had the right to be angry! Her own anger, already at a fever pitch, compelled her to continue. "So yes, I am offended. I'm offended that, just because you're a noble, you have any right at all to command others. I'm offended that I may have to depend on someone as weak and pathetic as you in battle. I'm offended because you just might cost one of my soldiers their lives, but I can't do anything about it because your country has employed me and my girls to fight for you. I'm offended to see yet another idiot wasting their life for the sake of expanding your country's imperialistic vision.

"To put it bluntly, Captain, you're a waste of my time. And now, if you'll excuse me." Leto turned around and walked off, not at all moved by the shock on his face as she unleashed her true feelings. It was as if he never even thought about anything beyond his own situation--that some idiot decided to make him a leader of a military campaign, despite the fact that he lacked everything necessary to command. People's lives, even if they were also criminals, depended on him. Her wing depended on him. But obviously he believed that all he had to do was put in his time, a year or so, and then his record would be expunged. Perhaps he'd even get a good rank in the kingdom's military!

And Ilian lives would pay the price in return, over and over again. What else were they good for, after all?

_Just die. All of you Etrurians, Bernese, Lycians...all of you who think our lives and hopes and dreams can be squandered to satisfy your precious egos--just die._

-end-

Kind of an unusual story, but so very useful for setting up the main conflicts of this second half. I love pegasus knights, which is probably no surprise to anyone who's read my other FE works. For instance, Leto is from Shadows Under the Oak Tree, where she was roughly as pleasant as she is here. Time doesn't change some people. Since Bouquet takes place a few years before SUtOT, there's no need to have read that fic to understand her here. As always, thank you for reading!

Pent and the Western Isles: For those of you who haven't played FE6, the significance in Pent going to the WI is due to the fact that his son Klein could be recruited in one of the chapters of the WI arc, in what was one of the most aggravating chapters if you were trying to get all three promotion items. Klein was the archery general (which is not one of the Three Generals), and had a pegasus knight unit attached to his troops. If you've played FE6, you'll see some interesting differences between Pent and Klein's times in the WI; if not, I'll make note of it.


	15. A Blinding Whirlwind of Petals, part 1

Bouquet

(C) Intelligent Systems and Nintendo

-0-

A Blinding Whirlwind of Petals (part one): Chrysanthemum, Acanthus  
(_hearts left to desolation must create artifices in order to survive_)

How many times had she, once a simple young girl who knew naught of cruelty or deception, been forced to hide her tears as everything she had believed to be true and good had been torn down before her? Lord Pent's departure a month ago was one, and here was another as she stood in front of House Reglay's steward.

"I'm...I'm so sorry. I-I didn't mean to cause so much trouble for you..."

Once again, Louise was made to understand that she had no power in this world.

The steward, Master Raike, shook his head, though she had noticed, with a looming sense of dismay as all-consuming as an encroaching twilight, that he had not looked at her since he had been forced to come to her rescue. "You needn't worry, Lady Louise. It was my fault for believing that would be a suitable place to send you."

His gracious words failed in their intent to make her feel better, for Louise could sense the insincerity within them. "I...perhaps, but all the same..."

"While you were away, a letter arrived from Lord Pent," the steward said. The name was enough to capture her attention; she stared at him, desperately awaiting his next word. "He had the forethought to enclose a note to you."

"Lord Pent is doing well?" She smiled, though inside she knew she ill-deserved the relief of such an act. "I'm so glad..."

The steward nodded, eyes slanted away from her. "I've left it in your room. If you don't mind, I have something to discuss with my wife, so..."

Louise smiled, the last vestiges of happiness fading away, only to be replaced by the lingering sense of dread that had become a familiar companion to her during her first journey within Reglay County. "Of course. Please excuse me." Turning to leave, she could not help but briefly glance at Madame Amy, her lovely, indomitable defender. Were it not for her, the conclusion would have been far more detrimental to herself, and yet--Louise knew she would have deserved it. Madame Amy accepted her gaze but for one moment, before lowering her dark gray eyes, olive-green hair falling unbound over her face like the curtain after the final act.

Something had ended here, Louise knew. That was why she left the office without a word, closing the door behind her. Yet, despite that knowledge, she lingered at the threshold, hateful curiosity awaiting the fatal blow.

"You knew this would happen, so don't make that face." Madame Amy's voice was no longer dulcet, compassionate, as when she spoke with Louise. It was the voice of a pegasus knight, Louise imagined, hard and strong and unyielding, unfaltering in the midst of battle. It reminded her of her mother, and the thought that she was surrounded by so many strong women while she herself was but a new flower who could do little more than waver in the winds that threatened to uproot her completely made her understand completely how arrogant she had been to assume she could do anything at all.

"I did, but the reality of it took me completely by surprise." It surprised Louise that Master Raike's tone did not appreciably change--perhaps he was beyond that now. "I knew our position was weak, but to do something like that...it's over. It's really over."

Heat, searing and blinding, began to stoke itself behind her eyes as she brought her hands to her mouth.

"I thought you would be angrier."

"At who? That girl? There's no point. There's no...don't. I don't need your pity. Lord Pent knew there was nothing that could be done from the very beginning. I thought he was giving up too soon, but he probably could read the situation better than anyone else. No wonder he was so irritated when I told him I had asked for her help. He already knew she wouldn't be able to do anything..."

It was a blur after that, until the time Louise looked up with raw eyes and saw the early summer skies above her. Having always loved the outdoors, she could hardly be surprised to find herself there now, safely ensconced within a segment of Castle Reglay's dream-like gardens. But for all the colors that surrounded her now, she could only keep her eyes on the wispy tails of clouds pulled apart to the point of disintegration, like foam in bathwater.

She watched the thin strings of cotton-like clouds disappear, and remembered a time just days before when it seemed her dream was not nearly as immaterial.

-0-

The nobility of Reglay has historically consisted of a small cadre of barons and viscounts, usually less than ten in number. In the present day three viscounties and five baronies exist in the central Etrurian region, of which House Reglay has ruled under the favor of the Etrurian crown for nearly a thousand years. The county of Reglay, north of Aquleia and the seat of the national government, holds one of the most important areas in the entire kingdom, protecting the capital from the northern barbarians who would dare strike 'The Pearl of the West.' Throughout the centuries it has gained and kept a glowing reputation for its Reglay wines, as dark and entrancing as the deep red roses that represent the county, and its temperate climate allows near-constant manufacture of the high-quality silks that clothe noblewomen from the queen of Etruria's ladies-in-waiting to the marchionesses of Lycia to the highland ladies of Bern. With the importance of the textile and wine industries in Reglay, its military has suffered somewhat within the last century, but the gold it earns could easily buy hosts of the best mercenaries to police every village within its borders; even the embezzlement of thirty thousand gold had done little to dent the wealth of the county.

Aquleia is the most culturally-advanced city in Elibe--perhaps the world. Reglay County has provided the means to that culture.

This is why the seat of Count Reglay is, in many ways, just as important as the Etrurian throne. To control the richest region in Elibe was but a dream for any outsider of House Reglay...until now. With the unmistakable evidence of foul play in regards to those riches now known to all the lords of Reglay, coalitions are being formed to topple the dying House Reglay, a family of one person, and place one of their own upon the throne within Castle Reglay's grand hall. Now that Lord Pent is away to serve a punishment for the crimes of others, no one can stop this from happening.

"That isn't quite right," Louise had said at the end of Master Raike's lecture. "Even if Lord Pent is not here, we're still able to do what we can. That is what I believe."

Master Raike, who had quite the kind smile when sufficiently motivated, grinned boyishly. "I thank you for your optimism, Lady Louise. We'll see tomorrow if it's justified. I'll be sending you to visit Baron Tilley. His manse is the closest to us, so if anything should go wrong I'll be able to come and help."

"Let's pray it won't be needed. I'd hate to have come here only to make things harder on you and Lord Pent," Louise had responded. At her words his smile waned, but there seemed to be no loss in his enthusiasm.

"I'll have a letter of introduction prepared for you before you leave. The baron enjoys a close relationship with House Reglay, so if he approves of you we will have staved off any threat to Lord Pent without much effort." Master Raike's smile had returned in full force by the end of his statement--perhaps even more than that, she could not help but marvel, and she had returned his efforts in full. "Godspeed to you, Lady Louise."

It was the last full interview she had been allowed with the busy steward of Reglay; with Lord Pent away he was now interim master of the realm, and Louise could not help but notice the considerable efforts he put into his duty. When she had left with Celia and Madame Amy, it was the latter who carried the fateful letter of introduction, no doubt charged to bear it by her husband. Louise had allowed her to keep it, for she did remember enough of her lessons to know what a lady should or should not be forced to carry for her own sake, though privately she thought it rather ridiculous. If she could wield a bow, could she not a one-page letter? But bowing her head to proper etiquette did not cost her anything, whereas being too prideful could rebound and harm her efforts, leaving her to surrender her arguments of willful independence with only a feather's caress of deeper implications.

The barony of House Tilley has always lay within the Tilley Forest to the east of Reglay Castle, the family of the noble house having always managed the forest at House Reglay's request. It was once a royal enclosure fit for the king's hunts, but the piety rising within the royal lineage within the last few centuries culminated with the decline of killing animals merely for sport--after all, Saint Elimine, blessed be her name, spoke with the beasts of the land just as kindly as she had human beings, as the Journey of Saint Elimine recorded, and her example is always worthy of being followed. After that royal edict, House Reglay claimed the forest for its own use, creating what was the first paper mill in all of the continent, and for the loyalty and hard work the Tilley family had shown they had been elevated to a noble house of high standing, the land they had historically been linked to now placed under their direct control. Their efforts have, in part, made Reglay what it is today, and as well Etruria.

Because of that, Master Raike had warned her, they have a very high opinion of their worth. Not just to themselves, but to Reglay. One of their daughters had married the younger brother of the former Count Reglay, and had she lived through the influenza epidemic with her husband she would be Countess Reglay today, and Lord Pent would not be here at all. House Tilley has never forgotten that.

Louise would not let herself forget it, either. It made her nights sleepless, because she could not imagine a world without Lord Pent in it.

The road into the forest was well-maintained, a history of wagon wheels imprinted into the dirt leading ever eastward; an enjoyable ride, Louise had thought. Her riding clothes had made it easy for her to ride properly, though Celia rode, as she always did, side-saddle, clutching her simple heal staff in one hand as the other held fast to Louise's shoulder. When the sky could still be seen without hindrance from the dark green canopy of the forest, Madame Amy had taken to the air on the back of her pegasus, a graceful filly called Hester in the most adoring tones by her mistress. Once inside the forest proper, though, pegasus and pegasus knight rode as any other horse did, Hester's wings tucked against her pure white flank as she trotted along with a certain grace that Louise had never before seen in a steed willing to be touched by human hands. Even her own horse, a chestnut and white Rafflesian gelding from Reglay Castle's stables, seemed but a common horse when riding astride one of Ilia's natural beauties.

Along the forest path there was a village, fully immersed within the trees. The road cut through its center as cleanly as a knife would a ready cake or loaf of bread, and those who were out-of-doors and milling about gave them a few curious looks but said nothing at all. Having never seen a pegasus before this journey, the mild reaction from the villagers had prompted Louise to say, "They don't seem too pleased with us..."

"It's because I'm here," Madame Amy had stated, her tone not betraying her feelings any more than her blank expression. "There are many who think a pegasus knight is an omen of ill portent."

"Truly?" Louise could not help but ask. "But pegasi are so lovely to behold. Don't you think so, Celia?"

Squeezing Louise's shoulder gently as she tried to shift on the saddle, Celia had said, "That's right. I don't know what it's like to live in Ilia, but the people must be blessed in some form to be partnered to such elegant creatures."

"Hmm." Madame Amy then patted Hester's head, smiling as the pegasus nickered pleasantly when she scratched behind one pale ear. "Hester, do you hear that? These cute girls are praising you. Isn't that nice?"

Louise had smiled; Madame Amy was really quite kind. She was about to say more in hopes of learning more about her guardian when a cry further down the road caught her attention. "What was that?" she had cried out in surprise, turning to Madame Amy. The older woman stared ahead with narrowed eyes, a sharpness to her profile that had not even been hinted moments before.

"A raid on a village that enjoys a baron's protection?" Madame Amy seemed to mutter to herself. "Lady Louise, it would be best to ride into the forest and avoid this. The baron's knights will come here soon and take care of them."

"I..." She could see the bandits now; they outnumbered their little group by two or three, but she could not easily abandon the villagers in hopes of others to assist them, not when she was here and capable of doing the same. "I cannot do that. The village needs protection now!"

Madame Amy had said nothing as she dislodged her lance from the side of the complicated saddle her pegasus wore. Finally, she had shaken her head. "I suppose I can't convince you to hide in the village either, milady?" Louise had nodded at this.

"I can fight."

Great wings had unfurled from Hester's sides, loose feathers twirling in the early summer breeze. "Then, I suggest you do as an archer should and stay back. If you must insist on this, please do me the favor of common sense." With a powerful gallop, Hester took flight, Madame Amy leaning forward with a tautness that had Louise wondering briefly if it was the lance or the rider herself that was the weapon. But, she had no time for such idle thoughts; she dismounted, causing Celia to cry out and grab the reins. The sight of her dearest friend in such distress had momentarily stunned Louise before Celia regained her balance on the large saddle and sat upright; then, and only then, had Louise found her voice.

"Celia, please stay back. Whatever you do, don't allow any harm to befall you! Run away if you must!"

"I should say the same to you, Lady Louise!" Celia had yelled back, her posture unsteady as she tried to get her leg over the other side of the saddle in her long skirts. "I am no nobleman's daughter, raised to heal from a horse! If you're injured, I can't do anything from this position!"

Louise had known it, she had always known it, and the smile on her face was marred with sadness that she would put her dear friend in such trouble. As quickly as she could, she had strung her bow, tightened the belt of her quiver, and hurried forward to assist. Yet, in the short interval between Madame Amy's departure and readying her bow, the battle had already been determined.

_This...this is a pegasus knight's strength, isn't it?_

Every time Madame Amy dove, one of the brigands would fall. With a single swing of her lance, she had brought such ruin upon them that all Louise could do in the end was watch. There were only bodies littering the road when she had finished, with nary but a scratch on her guardian's arm--that was all. And in return, all Louise could do was say, after Madame Amy had landed near her, "Y-you were magnificent."

The older woman had looked down from where she sat, so high upon her pure white steed, her expression unreadable. "I was asked to do it."

"Oh," Louise had breathed. Then, she realized the condemnation behind the words. "Madame Amy, you must forgive me, I--"

If I had the strength to protect by myself, I would do it, she had almost said, but the pause she took made it so that her words were forever lost to foul coincidence--a horn blared within that space between thought and speech, and that was it.

Baron Tilley's knights had come forth, seen the destruction, and the glares they had aimed at herself and her companions were filled with hard, terrible thoughts. Louise's confidence had quelled once she had been made a target to them, and when Madame Amy had reached for the letter she had carried in her belt she had been shouted down, ordered not to move or suffer the consequences. From here on, Louise could not remember much, sunk down into the midst of the chaos as she was; she remembered Madame Amy yelling for them to unhand the fiancée of Count Reglay, she remembered gloved hands grabbing her arms with a hateful strength she had never had cause to suffer before while harsh voices screamed in her ears to lay her weapon down, she remembered Celia screaming. "Why are you doing this?" Louise had asked, trying vainly to keep her bow, just her bow, was that too much to ask for? And the answer she had received, oh, that answer...

"No trueborn lady would debase herself by carrying a weapon. Our master won't accept such a disgrace as Reglay's own. Now come, girl!"

She remembered hearing the splintered crack of her bow, the bow she had made as a child, the bow she had presented to Lord Pent, the bow made of holy wood--her bow broke in her hands, and then it was pulled away as she was dragged forward. It was probably still there on the forest road, shattered, a mockery of what it once was.

Within the Tilley mansion she had shared one cell with Celia, while Madame Amy had been chained within another. A woman had come down, then another, a younger one, one who seemed vaguely familiar. They spoke insults aimed at her among themselves, they had seemed to have recognized her from somewhere before--

_Oh, the party, our birthday..._

--and for the insults they had borne on that day they were seeking to revenge themselves, to make her feel all the humiliation they had borne the same night Lord Pent had snubbed the younger woman. And so they were kept there until Master Raike came to free them, bearing insults with a bowed head all the while, and the carriage ride home had been so still, so uncomfortably quiet that Louise realized that she never should have come to Reglay at all.

-0-

Celia was not in their rooms when Louise returned there later that day, her eyes still smarting, her heart and confidence suffering worse blows. There was the promised letter from Lord Pent on the tea table, and Louise could only look at her name written on the envelope in Lord Pent's elegant penmanship. She took it in hands still sore from having her bow wrenched away from them, her fingers trembling as she opened the envelope as gently as she could bear along its closed seams. Then, pages fluttered open and Louise could see

_Hello Louise I hope you are doing well in Reglay please do not hesitate to ask for anything you might need or want my home is yours for as long as you desire it I am doing well here in the Western Isles it would not be a lie to say that I have been immersed in quite fascinating details as of late_

And that was it, that was all she could read before her vision blurred with countless tears and she drowned in the shame that she had failed him, she had failed this wonderful man and there was not a thing she could do to ever pay him back for his ever-present kindness towards someone like herself, someone who could not protect a single thing. What could she tell him now? What could she possibly tell him now? That she could not command respect from anyone? That she had been ill-treated by both knights and their masters?

That, although she had pledged to help him, her actions, much like her words, had all the force of a child's fist upon unyielding stone?

That would not do. Although Lord Pent was evidently doing well, he was not in the army to vacation, he was not in the Western Isles simply to enjoy the sea breezes. He did not need to suffer more, to suffer her losses as keenly as she felt them.

On the table was a quill, which she took in hand with a firm grip that allowed her to feel her fingernails as they dug into the flesh of the bottom swell of her palm. There was no paper on the table, but there was no worry--she kept the stationery Lord Pent had gifted her with in one of her trunks, long since empty of undergarments and dresses due to Celia's diligence. On the way to them, she espied herself in one of the mirrors hung along the walls of the room, mirrors far more useful for their decorative gold and silver frames in filigree rather than their reflective nature. She could see herself, her red eyes, her red cheeks, the quill clenched in her hand like the knife she carried on her hunting trips to cut the throats of pheasants and rabbits and dissect them into so much meat.

But she had no intention to cut, no, not in the least. Though she may be hurt, though she may be in agony, Lord Pent would not suffer one scratch from her mistakes. No matter how foolish she felt, no matter how sad, more than anything she wanted Lord Pent to see her name and read her words and smile.

Lord Pent should smile.

-to be continued...-

Are you all really enjoying this story? Was that last chapter and the different POVs it employed too odd or uninteresting to you? Should I post on another day, like Fridays? It would be very helpful to me, as well as this story, if more people speak up about what they like or dislike about this fic.

I don't mean to complain. I go to school full time as well as work part time; I spent this last weekend writing four papers in what few snatches of time I had before work, while proofreading this story and a chapter from the other story I'm working on. I have no intention of forcing this serial on hiatus or anything like that, I just want to feel like my efforts mean something. Thank you to those people who have commented in the past, and I certainly hope you'll continue to help me improve in the future.

The second half of this story comes out on 2/15--hope you enjoyed this half and look forward to the next!


	16. A Blinding Whirlwind of Petals, part 2

Bouquet

(C) Intelligent Studios and Nintendo

-0-

A Blinding Whirlwind of Petals (part two): Chrysanthemum, Acanthus  
(_hearts left to desolation must create artifices in order to survive_)

_Louise deserves absolute honesty_, Pent thought not for the first time as he tried to compose his letter to her._ She deserves that much._

_I wish I could give that to her._

Beyond the small table where he was sitting was the open flap of his tent. The sight of fog creeping across the camp, no matter the time of day, was still as unnerving to him as it had been when he first arrived two weeks ago, and he took a moment to let down the flap. The glow from his lantern suffused the tiny area; for someone like him, who once claimed an entire castle as his home, not to talk of the large library that was his favorite place to stay, a tent which only managed to fit a bedroll, a table more suited for a child's breadth of studies than a military captain's, and some advanced magic textbooks he had brought with him for some sense of familiarity was a novelty, and not necessarily an unpleasant one at that. He did miss some of the comforts of his home, especially a hot pot of tea and a large desk with requisite comfortable chair, but it surprised him how little he needed what Reglay Castle provided for him. In another world, or perhaps just another campaign, he thought a military life would have suited him well enough.

But this posting at the Western Isles was meant to be a punishment to him, and it was.

He looked down at the letter, a page of meaningless words woven together into a spell of half-truths designed to comfort her, if not put her more at ease, and he folded it and put it in its own envelope before placing it within a larger envelope meant for his steward. A ferry from the mainland came twice a week to drop off supplies and orders, and he intended to send out his letters with the one coming in tomorrow. Louise should get it within the next week, if his estimates were correct. She'd be happy to hear from him, he imagined. He'd be happy to hear from her. How much did the words matter, so long as they could reach out towards each other from this distance?

The fog had long since rolled past his tent; he couldn't even see the dull glow emanating from the commander's tent anymore. It was as if Pent was the last living being on this bit of land. The thought left a disquieting anxiety thrumming through him as he blew out his lantern and went to sleep.

-0-

For two days out of each week the commander and his lieutenant would go to the nearest town, where a castle was being built for one of the highborn nobles who had heavily invested in the recent excavations in the mineral-rich island of Fibernia. As Pent had learned during his formative school years before Pére Magie, Etruria had long been bound to the Western Isles for the latter's wealth of precious and semi-precious stones and metals, but only within the last generation had Etruria decided to fully take root within the islands; the lowered prestige in the brutal warriors of Berserker Durban's land as the people began to subsist on agriculture rather than plundering northern Etruria's fertile fields was cited as a key factor in this changed relationship. The leaders of the Western Isles, such as they were, allowed Etrurians within their nation to take their lands' bounties so long as Etruria reciprocated, and that had naturally evolved in this situation, where the native people of the Isles rebelled against their foreign masters. As such, Etruria was forced to send some of their own troops to protect their investments, for to do otherwise would make them appear weak to Bern, whose mountain deposits rivaled the Western Isles. Bern was already unhappy that Etruria was establishing this independence; any sign that Etruria could not rise up to the challenge they had started would do considerable harm to their prestige, and thus their relationships with the other nations of Elibe.

Pent had learned these things, but years of study at Aquleia's premier magic academy had pushed these lessons away from the forefront of his mind. To remember them now, while he was here ostensibly to protect Etruria's holdings, made him feel oddly wary. This was a punishment and he had accepted it, but all the same he felt as if he were nothing but a brick in the foundation of his kingdom's aspirations. As he was born to lead rather than to be led, his unorthodox childhood aside, he had to admit some measure of emotional dissonance at the thought. Was this all right? Was he happy with his country's path? Was he happy extending this path with all the power his mind and body brought to bear?

He had the feeling that he was very privileged in even being able to think about this in such terms. When he watched common soldiers train, he was sure of it.

While his commander and lieutenant commander were gone, Pent was the one in charge; as he had some leadership training, he performed his duties to the best of his abilities. These two days a week became something of a vacation, for when Commander Michael was around, Pent was expected to do all the undesirable work of ordering people to do things they would prefer to leave well enough alone as well as the paperwork. Orders were one thing, as his relative youth was balanced by the fact that he was undeniably experienced in issuing commands, no matter that in Reglay he seemed to be ordered around by his vassals as much as vice-versa, but he hated paperwork. His steward Raike could be commended for his energy and willingness to do everything he could before leaving the rest for Pent, but the military was quite a different creature in this respect. He had the feeling that he was being looked upon with pity by some of the veterans on the Etrurian side, and as for the pegasus knights...

"Is that all?"

When Commander Leto's black eyes met his gaze, Pent had to force himself to not react. She was, like her subordinates, an attractive woman, what with her delicate facial structure and pale skin that he believed was an Ilian trait, but her eyes were intensely off-putting. So dark that her pupils and irises could not be differentiated, her eyes were more a window to the abyss it was said elder magic originated from rather than her immortal soul. This, combined with her hostile demeanor, made the commander the last person on the Isles he had no interest in dealing with more than necessary--which made his job as liaison to the unit of pegasus knights on behalf of the Etrurian Army rather unpleasant.

"It is. Thank you for your consideration, Commander." He glanced from her face towards her two sub-commanders, one gray-haired with the faintest tint of light purple (similar to his own gray-blue hair, which interested him as he had never seen anyone else with comparable coloring), the other with long, wavy dark purple hair. Both young women stood at attention even though he was visiting their area of the encampment; Pent had the feeling Commander Leto was a martinet, although he couldn't say if that was worse than his own commander's shortcomings or not.

Commander Leto smirked. It made the cruelty in her eyes that much more apparent. "I don't need your gratitude to help me do my job, Captain Naive. You can just go on your way now."

For a moment, it hadn't even registered in his mind what she'd called him. When that moment passed, he found himself staring at her with a dull hope in his heart that he had heard incorrectly, though by the widened eyes of the gray-haired sub-commander it seemed he was beyond hope now. "Pardon me," he began, attempting to hide his annoyance from both his tone as well as his expression, "but I'd prefer to be called by my proper name."

With a tilt of her head, Commander Leto conveyed enough insouciance that he knew he would have been better off retreating. "Well, well. Sure, I'd be willing to, if you're worthy of respect."

"And how would I show that?"

"That depends on how you see us."

Pent frowned. "I've always treated all of you with respect. We are allies, after all." Behind Commander Leto, the purple-haired sub-commander covered her mouth, her squinting eyes revealing how difficult she found stifling her laughter to be, which only confused Pent further. For her part, Commander Leto only shook her head.

"You'll see."

-0-

Louise's reply reached him the day after his confrontation with the pegasus knights' commander, two weeks to the day he had sent his first letter.

_Dearest Lord Pent_, it said,_ I am so relieved to find that you are doing well. Please continue to take care of yourself. You must not concern yourself overmuch about me. I am doing well. There are no major problems to report here, and Reglay is so lovely this time of year. The flowers in the gardens are blooming wonderfully..._

He had to read it twice before he could convince himself that it was actually from her, but once he did he found he was smiling, though not completely from relief. Yes, he had worried over Louise's stay, knowing the sort of people in his county, but just to receive a letter from her made him happy. The end result of her goal did not interest him nearly half as much as the girl herself did.

Even though he was so far away, the people at his home hadn't forgotten him. Things had really changed from his childhood, after all.

-0-

Horns blared, shouts carried. The skies were cloudless and there was no hint of the fog that besieged the Western Isles so often. Pent supposed that it was a good day for a battle.

The Etrurian forces numbered no more than one hundred, which Pent figured was due to their status as defenders of the kingdom's claims and not marauding invaders or anything of the sort. Today they had lined up according to their weapon type, the vast majority being foot soldiers armed with either swords or lances. Commander Michael and his vice-commander (whom Pent rarely communicated with) were the only two on horseback; being a mage, Pent could only depend on his own two feet as he stood on one side of his commander's tawny horse behind their regiment. His stance was firm, but he couldn't help but grip his regulation Fire tome to calm his nerves as he saw the resistance descend the nearby mountains with animalistic roars that well suited the reputation of those from the Isles. He imagined fighting these people, letting loose magical fire upon those fighting for their homeland, and something inside of his stomach flopped.

Really, truly--what was he doing here?

Commander Michael raised his hand and Pent steeled himself as best he could, ready for the command to charge, something inside of him wavering although he knew his position allowed him to be relatively safe. Ready--yes, he was ready.

And then he saw the shadows.

Pent looked up and saw the full wing of pegasus knights, Commander Leto the most discernible with her black uniform on her white steed. The eleven dame knights soared above the Etrurians, their flight strangely silent. Nostalgia pressed down upon Pent's shoulders as he remembered his academy days in Aquleia, those cloudless summer days when he would keep the window to his room in his townhouse wide open throughout the night and wake to the sight of birds taking flight from the trees nearby his window. Those birds had been so loud, though, and none of them were as flawlessly white as the pegasi swooping towards the Islanders now.

But it didn't make sense. Pent looked up at his commander. "Aren't we going in now?"

"No. Why would we?"

"They're--" Pent's mind was moving faster than his mouth, and he had to pause for a moment to collect his thoughts. "They're our allies, sir. Etruria hired them to fight with us."

"Don't be so foolish." There was a look of disgust on Commander Michael's face as he finally decided to give Pent his full attention. "Our illustrious kingdom has bought the full measure of their lives to do as we will. It's better Ilian lives are cut down rather than those of our countrymen."

To hear those words...it felt as though something fundamental shifted inside of Pent. He could not hide his feelings any longer, aiming as venomous a glare as he could manage at his commander. "That's ridiculous. This was Etruria's conflict to begin with. Are you saying that we can't even fight our own battles now?" Turning away, he saw that his argument had caught the attention of not just a few soldiers, whose mixed expressions were unreadable. Whether they agreed with him or not, it was obvious that many of them were conflicted about throwing themselves into the fray.

"You will stand down, Captain. That is an order."

Not so long ago, Pent had been a count, beholden to none other than the king himself...and to his own sense of integrity. That integrity had led him from Castle Reglay's Great Hall to the rocky shores of the Western Isles' largest island, but he had never regretted it until now. Now, _now_ he had to obey absolutely, because here he was only an officer of low rank and little prestige, with whatever privileges he had enjoyed now stripped away from him--perhaps for good. He could bear being commanded, but to be ordered to throw aside his integrity for the sake of obeying such an asinine, intolerable mandate when lives were at stake...

And he had thought giving undesirable orders on behalf of his commander was the punishment? The _paperwork_?

But he could not resist, the knowledge that he would not get very far even if he was right locking his feet to the ground. He knew that the cost of disobeying orders from his commander was higher than he could afford to incur, particularly considering that Commander Michael expected absolute obedience. Humiliated, disgusted with himself, Pent bowed his head and gave in.

It was only when the steady beat of wings could be heard overhead that Pent looked up, his face uncommonly hot and his heartbeat rapid inside his chest as he watched them descend to the ground a short distance away from the Etrurians. None of the pegasus knights had incurred anything worse than minor wounds, but the young women looked exhausted. He made the mistake of glancing at Commander Leto after this observance, curious if she mirrored her companions, and found himself frozen by a slight grazing of her eyes meeting his. Her stare was flat, and after a moment she sneered before turning away. He understood her disdain now. All he could do in his powerlessness was understand, and agree.

Pent Martel, Count Reglay, had thought himself unable to do much. Pent Martel, a captain of the Etrurian campaign in the Western Isles, knew it.

-0-

That night, he began to write a letter to Louise.

_Dear Louise_, it stated, _I am doing well, all the much more because of your letter. There is little here to concern yourself with; in fact, one could say it was quite boring. I have certainly been much more troubled in Aquleia during exams, truly..._

-end-

Happy Valentine's Day, and a very happy Lunar New Year for those who celebrate it! A short second half, but one that says so much (I hope). I'm very grateful for the response to the last half, though I'm a little embarrassed at my whining--I was very stressed out at the time, but I'm not sure that's much of an excuse. As always, thank you for reading!

A primer on FE6 and the Western Isles: As I mentioned during Sprig and Sapling II, Pent's story is meant as a mirror to Klein's later actions in the Western Isles. This half is entirely set around an aspect of Klein's first appearance: how he treats his Ilian allies. One of Klein's soldiers asks why they're attacking the rebels (read: Roy's army) in tandem with the pegasus knights, as it was ordered that the peg knights should fight first to lessen Etrurian losses. Klein isn't having any of that, which leads to an annoying recruiting sequence...but never mind that. Of course, as Pent is merely an officer and has no say here, things turn out for the worse.

Age: Pent is seventeen here, the same age as Eliwood and Hector. But, doesn't he seem weaker here than them? Of course that will change, but I thought it was interesting. There's something to be said about the respective nature of their quests, where Eliwood and Hector were beholden to no one while Pent is trapped within Etruria's military structure, but it is interesting.

I'll be taking an extra week off due to exams and increased hours at work, but please look forward to the next story on 3/08!


	17. Fruit of the Poison Tree

Bouquet

(C) Intelligent Systems and Nintendo

-0-

Fruit of the Poison Tree: Pasque Flower, Rosebud, Lobelia  
(_can an unpretentious young girl bear all the malevolence that surrounds house reglay?_)

"What did your lady mother have to say?"

At these words, Louise set down the letter in her hands to look at her dear friend full in the face. Celia had been knitting across the small table where Louise had been pleasantly occupied with her mail, but in addition to the question Celia also paused in her work--a shame, for in addition to the tender sound of the knitting needles followed the soft, melodious sound of her dearest companion's lovely singing voice, lending to the atmosphere of the room what could only be positive feelings so desperately needed. Indeed, Louise's mood now wavered, though she put on a brave face to make up for it. "Mother is doing well. She's been reading a new novel about an idyllic retreat into the countryside, though she says it's far too idealized and not at all accurate with her experience."

Celia smiled. "Lady Catherine and her novels. When do you think she will decide to write one of her own?"

"She told me once she would only write if she could be assured that it would change the world," Louise replied, laying her hand on top of her mother's letter. The stationery was descended from a fine brand, though it did not have quite the smoothness of her birthday present from Lord Pent. Her mother had admired the gift, though everyone knew well that her mother's first and enduring love for fine jewelry held her back from truly appreciating much else.

Louise was still sunning in her good feelings when Celia, eyes averted, asked, "And what of your father?"

"Ah..." Closing her eyes, Louise took in a deep breath. "Mother says Father is being a bit impossible to live with."

There was a beat of hesitation shivering in the air before Celia said, "Perhaps you should write to him, Lady Louise."

Louise opened her eyes then, though the letters before her kept her attention. Besides the one from her mother, there was also another from Lady Nella, Countess Caerleon, who was bearing patiently her confinement with the sort of good humor that Louise thought spoke well of the noblewoman's inclination towards motherhood. It seemed quite wonderful to be so blessed, not only to have the children from the first marriage--her nieces and nephew, at that--as well as the adopted child, but then to bear her own--Lady Nella must feel quite fulfilled as a woman. But now was not the time to linger overlong on romantic thoughts of motherhood, though it took Louise quite a bit of mental shaking before she could organize her mind thus. "I of course would write Father if I had anything to say, but with my recent failure I am afraid I will be seeing him before long." She tried to smile, though Celia returned it with a small frown. "Celia, you can't argue the fact. It has been almost a week since Master Raike has thought to speak with me again since that disaster, and I...cannot really blame him. He is probably trying to figure out the best way to have me sent home without hurting my feelings too much."

"But who could have ever expected a baron to commit such an act!" Flush with anger, Celia rose from her seat. "You have not even started, so why--"

Solemn bells echoed, interrupting Celia's tirade in timely fashion, or so Louise thought. She truly did not believe herself ready for such a conversation, no matter that her dear friend was wholly on her side. With a forced smile she stood from her seat. "It's time for church. Shall we go?"

Celia nodded, though her expression betrayed a certain hesitance. "Of course. But these Tower Elimineans are so brusque with their worship it makes me wonder why we spend the effort gathering in the first place."

"...Well, we're guests here for now, so we should be respectful." Despite her words, Louise could not help but privately agree. As a Lighter Eliminean, she could not help but feel somewhat at a loss when it came to the rituals of the Tower Elimineans, who were the most prominent denomination of those who followed the words of Saint Elimine, blessed be her name. They claimed to speak for all Elimineans due their main symbol, the Tower of the Saint, where her followers had built an altar after she left for God's country. Lighter Elimineans kept true to the tenets of the holy saint's most well-known sermon, called 'The Light on the Hill' as it was given after she had received God's announcement that she was to return to Him, which caused grievances between them and the Tower Elimineans once the latter's rigid hierarchy began presuming to speak for the saint after her departure. Louise could only assume Lord Pent was a Tower Eliminean because the castle chapel hardly strayed from their particular canon, and the fact that she would most certainly have to cast aside her own beliefs like any good wife should for the sake of her husband--as her mother had for her father, for one--brought a measure of discomfort that could not easily be shrugged off like a cloak. As her mother had told her before, matters of faith were more like corsets, providing support and shaping well both young and old.

She had not thought on this when she agreed, again and again, to marry Lord Pent. It made her wonder what else she had not considered.

Inside the chapel proper were rows of pews filled with the servants of the castle, many who had not even changed out of their uniforms to attend service. Between one Lightsday and another Louise had fallen out of favor with the steward, leaving her to practice some discretion and sit in one of the back rows rather than at the front with Master Raike and his family, though having Celia beside her made the change more than tolerable. Unlike the ecstatic revelries that formed the services for Lighter Elimineans, where the congregations joined like family and worship was only interrupted by at least two meals, the Tower Elimineans did no more than follow the voice of the priest as he lectured them, elevating the sermons of bishops to equal level with the words of the blessed saint. It was uncomfortable to bear what was nearly heresy to her ears and faith, but Louise kept her head low and her eyes did not stray from her open copy of _The Journey of Saint Elimine_ until it was over. It had not taken her even four stories to keep herself occupied until the end of the sermon, and that itself was both relief and concern--brusque, indeed.

The two of them sat together while the servants milled out of the chapel; when he appeared out of the corner of her sight, Master Raike did not even give her one whit of attention, though his wife seemed to pause before being sufficiently distracted by one of her sons. Louise could only grip her hands together, willing desperately that her emotions would not show on her face.

She had failed, after all. She should accept it instead of allowing herself to be devoured by it. But, for Lord Pent's sake...

With a sigh she simply could not hold inside any longer, Louise rose from her seat. Celia did not follow, and a glance from Louise told the story: as it was, Celia had her head bowed low, her lips mouthing prayers gleaned from her copy of that most holy of books. When her dear friend got into a mood like this one, it was best for Louise to leave her be--but not completely. Making her way out of the pew, she took a discerning look about the chapel, finding that it was not decorated with bouquets of flowers like her own country church, nor the little touches of care such as a straw broom laid out for any passerby to do their part in maintaining the place or the children's clutter as they wound crowns of flowers for the little goddess icon that served as their image of the blessed saint. No, this place was made from stone after unyielding stone, and Louise detected something a little cold about it although the statue of Saint Elimine that rose behind the priest's pedestal easily overtook her home church's and its windows were multicolored wonders of artistic delight. Perhaps she was being too judgmental, perhaps she understood not the difference between a little wood-and-stone church next to a dirt road and the personal chapel of a keep as massive and great as Castle Reglay, but she did not care for it. This was not the sort of place she had ever pictured herself married in; this was not a home where her faith could thrive. The only real similarity between the two houses of the holy woman was the beam of light that fell upon the altar in the front of the room, allowing the saint's light to fall upon those awaiting blessings, such as in the case of a bride or groom. Her mother and father, alternatively, told of being blessed by moonlight--nature's light was luminary all the same, no matter its source.

Very gently, Louise worried at her bottom lip with the edge of her front teeth. She ought not be worrying over such details of her upcoming nuptials; at the rate she was going, she would not be marrying anyone within Castle Reglay's chapel.

"Excuse me, milady."

Louise glanced to her left and found a most curious sight: a middle-aged woman with her chestnut-brown hair bound into a flawless Etruscan braid--a woman who was not an inch taller than Louise's rather diminutive height. She was dressed not as a servant but as any respectable person might dress when going to church, though Louise's fine eye for clothing noted that the muted rose dress was made from simple cotton with none of the stiffness of a new outfit. "What can I do for you, madame?" she asked, turning towards the older woman.

With a short curtsy, the woman inquired, "Do I have the pleasure of speaking to our lord's wife-to-be?"

"...Yes, that would be me," Louise said, her heartbeat becoming a little rushed. Though she had become used to the terms 'betrothed' and 'fiancée,' it was quite another thing to be a wife yet, even to-be. "I'm Louise Émile of Alloway. To whom do I have the honor of speaking to?"

The woman tilted her head. "Ah, such politeness from such a young girl. I'm Osanna, now retired from service to House Reglay, though I'm still too used to going to the chapel here rather than in the town. When I was younger, I was nurse and milk-mother to our current count."

Putting a hand to her lips, Louise could not hold back her exclamation at such news. "Ah, then you've known Lord Pent since he was a child! How wonderful!"

"Girl, this is a house of worship, not of gossip!" thundered the priest, who was still at his pulpit despite the near-empty chapel. Louise's face went blazing hot at the admonishment, but when Madame Osanna placed her hand upon Louise's forearm she calmed a little.

"Come, Milady Louise. Shall we seek fresh air?"

After glancing back at Celia, who was still in the meditative throes of prayer, Louise nodded and followed the older woman out of the chapel. Being as the chapel was more of an attached detachment of the greater castle, this led them into the common garden path-- 'common' referring to the use it saw each day and not a comment as to its quality--which would eventually lead them down to the castle town if they so chose. Madame Osanna seemed to want to avoid that path, veering into the bushes and forcing Louise, who was in one of the simple white dresses she so liked to wear to church, to clumsily follow after her, keeping as well as she could from dirtying her skirts. Birdsong followed them, as did the summer sun, and it did occur to her that the day was quite nice no matter how much she wanted for more appropriate clothing. She smiled as she twisted and ducked around errant branches, quite enjoying the physical exercise.

They exited into a vaguely familiar place: a gazebo she and Celia had found once while exploring the castle grounds. Madame Osanna took her there now, and they seated themselves within the shade provided by the simple, yet elegant structure. Hedges surrounded most of the area save a lone path, with bright summer flowers providing a pleasant contrast to the white of the gazebo and green of the trimmed hedges and grass. Without either a tea cozy or maid to provide one, there was a feeling of privacy that seemed to Louise as being more than a veil--they were secluded totally and utterly.

Looking at Madame Osanna's smiling face, Louise felt strangely ill at ease. With this perfect solitude on a bright summer day, the shade in which the gazebo shrouded them with had a slight sense of unreality that she did not care for at all.

"Milady," the older woman said, her hands on her lap with a casualness that Louise could not mimic, "how goes your time here so far? I understand your first foray into building connections did not go well."

"Oh, I, well..." Louise's smile was strained as she tried to formulate some rationalization that did not sound wholly like one. "It will take time to be accepted by Reglay's nobility. I've always known that. It...teaches me to learn patience."

Madame Osanna nodded. "Every woman should know that much. But really, you've drawn an unlucky card. House Reglay has been much maligned for some time now."

"What do you mean?" Louise asked, her hands loosely linked together, concern blooming in her chest like a particularly treacherous chest cold.

Eyes darting about, Madame Osanna leaned towards Louise. "What do you know of Count Reglay's parentage?"

Louise blinked. "His parents are the late Count and Countess Reglay."

"Is that so." The older woman leaned back. "Your ears are well protected from errant whispers, I see. Then again, you are not a native of Reglay."

Louise could not help the touch of a frown weighing down her brows, nor could she stop the building heaviness bearing down within her chest. There was no doubt that this conversation would lead down winding paths she would rather keep herself away from, but her curiosity had taken hold; it was too strong an enemy for a girl like herself to defeat--or so she told herself. "What do you mean?"

"It has long been held as truth rather than rumor," Madame Osanna's expression darkened, "that Lord Pent is no legitimate heir of House Reglay."

Raising a hand to her mouth, Louise closed her eyes, the heavy weight in her chest having sunk to her stomach and feeling as though it were churning about. In her fifteen years she had not once come across even the idea of infidelity; to have it revealed before her face as a stark truth, boldly naked with arms outstretched--it was too much. "Lord Pent doesn't know this...?" she whispered to herself, suddenly unsure. To know something about Lord Pent that he didn't was a terrible power.

She could never tell him but, if there was any truth to it, then didn't he deserve to know?

"He should not know. I doubt he even remembers his mother, since she never cared for his presence to begin with, but the old count had sent him away right after her death, when the voices of the Reglay nobility were clamoring the loudest for a legitimate heir. That he ignored them by preferring to keep a bastard as the heir instead of marrying a Reglay County noblewoman and producing a real heir has always offended them, moreso when Lord Pent ascended as the new Count Reglay." Sighing, Madame Osanna shook her head. "It really is a shame. His mother was no real countess, preferring to play around in Aquleia rather than comport herself to her role, and the only reason his father kept him around was because the man had no patience for anything but his ledgers. As his nurse, I've had to watch this for years without being able to voice my disgust. That boy deserves so much better than the house he was born into." Finally, finally, Lord Pent's nurse paused in her refrain, only to gasp when their eyes met. "Oh, milady, your coloring looks so pale. Do you need to rest?"

"Ah, yes...I would like that," Louise murmured, lowering her hand from her mouth with a trembling hesitance, knowing that she was so close to becoming physically ill. She allowed Madame Osanna to escort her to the castle proper, and let herself drift to the rooms prepared for her during her stay. On the tea table there was a new letter from Lord Pent, and when she sighted his handwriting, so familiar to her now, she could only stand there, wanting desperately to read it but knowing that she would be expected to reply, and...

She could not do it. Louise could not possibly write to him with this new knowledge having burned its black brand into her mind and heart. All she could do was take to her bed and hope she would be allowed to forget, if only for a little while.

-0-

Deep within the next day Louise rose and found herself with nothing to do, in possession of only an ache between her eyes from oversleep and a note from Celia, who had ventured into the castle town for a curative from the Allowellian fields to make Louise sprightly and alive once again. It would have to be _licoresse_ root for tea, though she had no need of an expectorant--she only liked its intense flavor. With a sigh of effort, Louise rose to dress herself, opting for a thinner, less bothersome corset she liked to wear for more freedom of movement and a light summer dress of the palest blue trimmed with white lace, before leaving her rooms. A maid passing by scarcely glanced at her; Louise found that her presence was treated by the housemaids as neither a pleasantry nor annoyance, all to a one tolerant with nary a sign of life in their faces those few times she had reason to speak with any of them. They were probably all pleased with her poor reputation within Castle Reglay, counting down the days until her dismissal, but Louise found she could not bring herself to feel much in return, especially not now.

She went to the foyer.

The portrait of Lord Pent's lady mother hung proudly there, in its grand spot above the split in the stairway that would lead one either into the East or West Halls, her beauty peering down upon all visitors of the castle. It was she who was the first sight, the herald who proclaimed the wonders of Reglay Castle, and she did not disappoint one bit. Louise could still remember that day vividly; entering the castle, she did not find Lord Pent like the other ladies surely had, but rather the incomparable visage of his mother. Her own mother had made a little sound, though whether it was of pleasure or derision Louise had never remembered to ask, and led her away to find where their rooms would be. The next day, when Louise had first walked through the parted crowds to address Lord Pent for the first (and, she had thought privately, perhaps the last) time, she had been taken aback by the fact that Lord Pent shared his mother's beauty, that same wondrous coloring of hair and eyes that had made her almost ethereal; for a man, it had made him look gentle, though his throne was nothing short of imposing. He was a count; he was lovely; he was lonely. These things were all she knew of him--were these also the things that had caused her to speak so confidently?

No. She knew it had been herself. Only herself, and the nascent feelings she had held within her breast at that time. She could no more fully explain why she had spoken the way she had that day or the full crest of emotions she had experienced within that short time than she could explain why not one of the nineteen highborn ladies and all their exemplary feminine skills were able to secure themselves a husband that day.

The portrait of Countess Reglay was still beautiful, still fascinating to the eye, but now Louise could detect something cold in her amethyst-reflective eyes, something that mirrored the feeling that had wormed its way into Louise's own heart. This woman, who had bestowed upon her only child such gentle beauty, did not have a heart that reflected the goodness of her looks. That was all Louise could articulate to herself regarding what she now felt for the countess, having so little experience in espousing malicious thoughts towards others--it was a good thing Lord Pent did not take after his mother, the mother he had never truly known.

Her thoughts were uncomfortable for her; she turned around and walked away. There was an art gallery within the castle, Lord Pent had told her once, and she thought perhaps she might find an image of the last Count Reglay. She wanted to--no, she only wished for a look. Nothing more.

There were but a few points of illumination within the gallery, and innumerable portraits of the men who made up Lord Pent's ancestry. Only the very first of the Reglay lineage, Martell the adept, one of the few who stood beside their respective leaders during the Scouring, was depicted as a younger man, perhaps no older than Lord Pent himself right now, but of course it was impossible to see anything of Lord Pent in a man from a thousand years before. But to compare Lord Pent to his father, a rather grim, austere man whose only portrait bore the label 'Lord Klein, 27th Count of Reglay'...that was altogether more difficult. Louise studied the late Count Reglay's unsmiling face and remembered Lord Pent's half-smiles, she looked into stern, dark eyes and remembered light ones, she tried to substitute dark hair for hair the color of pale bluish-gray...

She left, unsettled and unable--unwilling--to admit the core reason of it.

-0-

The next day found Louise no better than before, so under Celia's direction she found herself in her favorite place in all the castle: the kitchens.

As befitting a castle as large as Castle Reglay, there were multiple rooms in the kitchen section; one for baking bread alone, another for roasting various meats, others for frying and boiling. There was even a small _pâtisserie_ for the preparation of cakes and biscuits for tea. Certain doors led outside to various kitchen gardens, where the scent of a hundred different spices and other aromatics vied for supremacy, bolstered by the summer breeze. Common vegetables, such as potatoes and turnips, were grown in nearby fields, as did fruits for all seasons--there was even an entire orchard of fruit trees, such as multiple types of apples and pears, peaches, oranges, apricots, and even pomegranates and quince, which had a whole team of workers wheeling out bushels of fruit to both castle and town. Being from Alloway, Louise could see that the castle was self-sufficient in a way that bespoke of the natural independence found in all people; not only self-sufficient, but also providing for its county to an extent that was not often seen by high-ranked nobility. It was not quite the same as Alloway, where her dear uncle the count was busy working to ensure that every family in his lands could provide for themselves rather than be forced to depend on his largesse to survive, but she could see that House Reglay cared deeply for its people like a father his children. Paternalism, as she had heard her mother call it, did have its benefits.

She did not like where that thought could lead her, and instead concentrated on decorating her tea cakes. Perhaps due to her fondness for all things concerning food, she had been taken under the wing of the castle's _pâtissier_, Monsieur Dumás, who had a long storied history of working at the castle, from caring for the chickens as a boy to becoming the head of all things to do with baking in his advanced age, and although he had not even a single hair on his head his hands were as steady and bold as Ellie's back at home. As he was also Etruscan, they delighted in each other's company initially to speak the language of their ancestors, though love for cooking only strengthened their growing bond. To her, he was like a kindly old grandfather in direct opposition to her maternal one, and if she could she would spend entire days in the _pâtisserie_ with him learning how to make pies and choux pastries and brioche and all matter of cakes. Were she not a born lady of some importance, Louise imagined she could have worked very well at becoming a chef in her own right--she could even hunt!

"There we are, that's quite enough cream on top of that, wouldn't you say?" Monsieur Dumás' voice broke into her thoughts, and she looked down to find that her little tea cake was now suffocated by globs of cream, much to her dismay.

"Oh...and I wanted to put a strawberry on top for Celia," Louise moaned, pouting at the mess she had made. Celia had asked her to go make some pastries for them to share while Celia worked on some mending and alteration on Louise's dresses, and Louise had followed through if only to force herself not to think. But now, with a drowned cake to show for her efforts, she felt worse than before.

Monsieur Dumás patted her on the shoulder before taking the ruined cake away. "We still have some left for you to decorate. It's such a pleasure to have such a fine young lady interested in the art of pastry-making. I haven't been of much use since Countess Reglay was welcomed by our good saint into God's country."

Dreadful curiosity! It reared its head yet again, and compelled by such Louise could only ask, "Did you know her?"

"Ah! I knew her quite well!" the old _pâtissier_ exclaimed as he reached for a pan of cooling tea cakes. "What a beautiful lady she was. Called away far too soon, I say. Without her, the castle's been staid and gloomy. Even our young count takes far too much after our old count for my liking. But you, little Lady Louise, you'll bring life to this place again, won't you?"

"...I do hope so," she answered, at once both pained by the mention that Lord Pent was like his...his _father_ while obscurely pleased to be held in such high esteem by such a delightful man. "Would you tell me about her?"

Placing the pan before her, Monsieur Dumás leaned on the counter where they were working. "It was a little under twenty years ago when she first arrived--charming woman! Before her arrival, the mood was so bad. The old count's family had died from illness, even the two little girls, and we servants thought there would never be a good day in this castle again. But she came into our lives and suddenly Castle Reglay became even more glamorous than the White Palace! Parties of all sizes, nobility in and out the doors, but she guided it all like a queen in her own right." With the sparkle of reminiscence in his eye, he nodded at Louise. "Little Louise, you've seen her picture in the foyer, haven't you?"

She returned the nod with one of her own. "Yes. Lord Pent's mother was so beautiful...there must not have been a woman who could compare. It's no wonder she was chosen."

"Now, now, you've still time to grow into a magnificent woman yourself. Just give it another two or three years and your count won't be able to keep away from you!" At this compliment, no less magnificent than the woman he thought she would grow to become, Louise looked away, hiding both her smile as well as her flaming face. "See there, roses bloom on your cheeks where other girls would just become blotchy. But what was I saying? Countess Reglay wasn't just beautiful, but an accomplished artist in her own right. She could play the harp and sing and dance, but more than that she was a first-rate actress. She recited poetry like the silk workers weave. When she was alive, the arts blossomed in Reglay and she worked tirelessly to make it so."

Horrible thoughts darkened Louise's mood. "To work like that...she must have been away from her husband quite often." To that, Monsieur Dumás waved his hand, a frustrated look on his face.

"They were not close, true enough, but that should have never led to such awful rumors. A brilliant lady such as the Countess shouldn't have to hide behind her husband, bowing to him like a servant. Even the old count knew this, and he benefited so much from her skills that he had naught to complain about in the first place. They were simply two different people in two different spheres, and they each held their own quite well." He sighed. "I remembered when she succumbed, how you couldn't drag the old count away from her bedside. The young count was just a lad then, and they did their best to keep him from the worst of it. When the rumors flared up after her death, he had to be sent away for his own good."

"Lord Pent can't remember his mother," Louise murmured, confused and saddened in turns. What she was hearing put a different spin on things than what Lord Pent's nurse had informed her of, but just as her mother would always say, no issue was only one-sided.

Monsieur Dumás nodded, his expression grave. "It's well he can't. To see her in her final days would have been a desecration of the woman she had been in the few short years she had lived here. Better he know a picture of her true form."

She no longer could stand the difference between his words and the words of Madame Osanna. In a burst of frustration, Louise exclaimed, "What you say is too different from what Lord Pent's nurse told me! I can't understand it!"

"His nurse?"

"Madame Osanna," Louise clarified. To this, her good friend and teacher only raised one bushy white eyebrow.

"The young count's nurse was Madame Melanie. She died of consumption some time after he left to live with his viscount grandfather."

-0-

"That makes no sense," Celia said when Louise related the entire story to her later that day. "Why would this woman present herself in such a way? Why the lies, or were they all lies?"

"I don't know, but I intend to find out." So saying this, Louise hurried to Master Raike's office, knowing well that he could still be disgusted with her. For the sake of discovering the truth, she mustered enough determination to conquer her humiliation and anxiety.

It was necessary. She wanted nothing more than to write to Lord Pent without these fears in her heart, without feeling she had to play gatekeeper between him and the truth of him.

The steward was in his office when she entered, to which he raised his head and frowned at her. Shaking her head, she met his gaze as she said, "Please forgive my rudeness, but I have something I must discuss with you."

"I was just about to call on you, actually." He nodded to her. "But please, sit down and tell me what's wrong."

After doing one she proceeded to do the latter, omitting nothing--not even her own reactions and personal feelings. Her honesty earned her his mutable and ever-changing expressions, as first he listened without emotion, then his face began to develop reddish blotches as his frown deepened until, finally, she was done recounting it all. When it was clear she had finished, he began shaking his head. "So, we're infested."

"Infested?"

He exhaled loudly, less a sigh than a wordless exclamation of frustration and anxiety. "With spies."

She could not help herself; she sat up painfully straight, her hands all but glued together as she gripped them hard. "Spies? But why?"

"The other lords want to know what we're doing, and they want to change things to make it more favorable for them." The look he gave her was every bit as calculating as one of her mother's own stares, and just like those this one made her suddenly uneasy. "I think your presence is making someone or someones very nervous if they tried to feed you this tale."

"I don't understand. What were they trying to do?"

Folding his hands on top of his desk, Master Raike seemed to take on an indescribable quality, as if he were imbued with experience years beyond what his youthful looks implied. That strange look he was giving her had not yet departed, deepening her anxiety--what did he see when he looked at her in that way? "They wanted you to feel uneasy about your relationship with Lord Pent. If you were the sort of woman whose only interest was marrying a highborn nobleman, that little story would have frightened you into abandoning him since, after all, you would only care for the title. But, as everyone knows about your marriage promise to him, obviously you are not that type.

"You mentioned how it would make you feel to have to hide a secret of that magnitude from him. Indeed, you said that it wouldn't be possible for you. I think someone was counting on that, that your honesty would force you to tell Lord Pent this thing. As I'm sure you know, he's quite ambivalent about his family, and is a fairly private person anyway. Your unearthing this secret and revealing it to him would unnerve him, perhaps enough to cause him harm during his campaign. More to the point, he would definitely ask you to return home, and that act would rend holes into your relationship with him."

Louise had to look away, so overwhelmed as she was with this idea he had put into her head, this cruel plan someone had developed to ruin what she had with Lord Pent, still altogether both new and fragile. Though she was sure they had friendship and trust, they also had the distance of a country and a body of water between them, and anything could happen between the two weeks of a letter and its reply. "They wished to isolate Lord Pent," she spoke aloud, and an intense shock jolted her body when she realized how true it was.

Then, just a little bit, she began to grow angry.

Master Raike nodded. "I'm not sure what's going on between the other lords. I'm sure they've split off into their own factions to support whoever has the strongest claims, which means they're too busy fighting each other to do something as drastic as stop paying taxes or involve either the king or the archbishop, but the truth remains that your continued presence in Reglay is frustrating them. After all, you have a weak but intact relation to the king himself, and your grandfather is a well-respected duke. They're not sure what you can do, and some would rather just have you gone completely." Reaching for a letter on his desk, he said, "This brings me to what I had to discuss with you. You've been invited to tea with Viscount Battam's daughters."

She looked at him, unsure now of how to react. "Viscount Battam? Is he one of the ones who has control over the silk industry?"

"Yes, and other textiles. But don't assume this is going to be a friendly meeting. He has a claim through his grandmother marrying Lord Pent's great-granduncle, so I'm sure he's leading his own faction." He unfolded his hands and laid them flat on the desk, his cheeks tinted red as his jaw tightened. "They're not going to be your friends, Lady Louise. At all costs don't ever let yourself believe it. They may lie and say that House Reglay is poisonous to the future of this county because of this scandal, but we both know that Lord Pent is a better man than they could ever be. As you can see, we can expect all sorts of tricks. Spies and imprisonment are going to be the least of them."

"I understand," she said, the anger from before returning. "I thought they would be courteous, as befitting their rank, but now I see I was wrong. I won't tolerate anyone who tries to hurt Lord Pent, especially when they try to do it through me. And, I won't give you cause to regret requesting my help. You shouldn't...you should never have had to bear seeing your wife jailed and chained."

His expression flickered, but then it showed resolve, such that she thought was mirrored in her own expression. "Thank you, Lady Louise."

Louise only nodded, newfound determination surging through her. She would not fail. For Lord Pent's sake, she would not fail.

For her own sake, she would not fail.

-end-

Not much to say this time, other than that it was a good idea for me to delay this story a week considering my hectic work and school schedule these days. This is the first full-bodied story of the second half of this serial, so I truly hope you enjoyed this part. Thank you for reading! The next story will be posted on 3/22.

The title: In American legalese, the term 'fruit of the poison tree' is about evidence illegally obtained during police investigation, usually through improperly following procedure. Any fan of Law & Order's various offshoots knows that much! As soon as I thought about the phrase, my mind refused any other title for this story, leading to...a different meaning altogether.

Licoresse: Old French for liquorice/licorice. It sounds obvious, I know. An expectorant is for colds, something that clears mucus.

Lady Slyphine Martel, Countess Reglay: Bouquet, the story where even the dead people are complicated. Is it just me, or isn't it interesting how the idea of how the myth around a single person can become incredibly conflicting and complex once they're dead because they no longer have the ability to control the information about them? I often wonder about the difference between history as we know it, and the truth of the times and people. But I guess this is sort of a weird thing to be discussing in a romance story, huh?


	18. Planting Dragon Teeth

Bouquet

(C) Intelligent Systems and Nintendo

-0-

Planting Dragon Teeth: Convolvulus, York and Lancaster Rose, Snowdrop  
(_bonds formed during war make for interesting friendships_)

As the fog cloaked the camp, Pent read his correspondence with help from the dimming light of his lantern. As befitting a man of some military discipline, he patiently endured the reports Raike had sent him, although he had to admit that he received more pleasure reading them now than he did when he was at home. He supposed this was out of some nostalgia for that place, though he could not call it a real longing for home quite yet--it had only been two months since he was first sent out here, and with his duties and concerns he hadn't really given himself the time to miss Reglay.

After the last word of the last report, he put it aside and very calmly reached for Louise's missive, the one thing he had been wanting to read ever since he had seen it arrive with his mail. They had developed a strict schedule of replies; he would send a letter, and it would take a week to reach Reglay. She would respond, and her answering letter would take a week to arrive to him. While he admired his new steward's rigid discipline in sending weekly reports without prompting, he far preferred Louise's more whimsical retellings of her time in his home, from her journeys out of the castle to the pastries she was learning to make--_I understand that you care little for overly sweet cakes, my lord, but I do hope you'll indulge me by trying some once you return home_, he read, half-smiling at the thought. In his mind he was already composing a reply--_You remember well, but I would be remiss if I forgot to add that the cake you made at the conclusion of our joined birthdays as being fairly mild. Knowing this, I would be happy to try whatever you put in front of me_--and his smile widened. It was the truth, of course, but he knew the sentiment would make her happy and he already looked forward to her response to that.

Now, if only they were sitting beside each other right now, and could immediately speak and make replies as they thought them instead of having to wait two weeks to return to a conversation too light and mild to be stretched out indefinitely, that would be ideal.

The pleasant uptick in his mood dimmed as he read her account of tea with the daughters of some viscount he could barely remember; she always wrote in what seemed to be a light, airy mood, but reading between the lines revealed that she had not had a good time. Given that the passage was only a few lines long when normally she liked to go into detail about this or that, and suddenly he felt apprehensive. This was exacerbated by the fact that he couldn't travel back home as if he were merely vacationing in the summer manor in southern Reglay or at his townhouse in Aquleia, leaving him with a feeling of disquiet even as Louise herself went on to discuss her exploration of the castle town incognito alongside her sister-maid. Any response he could make would be two weeks delayed, and the incident had already occurred two weeks prior; a reaction a month late might as well never have been executed in the first place.

He had made his choice, independent of what feelings he held for her. He could not regret it now.

When he finished with her letter, he carefully folded it and placed it aside on his little working table, knowing that no one would dare enter his tent. His commander and vice-commander--though he wished he no longer had to call them such, not after discovering what they considered to be brilliant Etrurian tactics--would be leaving for the weekly supply run tomorrow, leaving him with at least a couple days of fresh air. He never thought he would enjoy being a sole leader until he had come here, and perhaps that was a good thing.

Mood thus stabilized, he went to bed after dousing his lantern and fell asleep easily enough, dreaming of seas of gold and spirits that flamed bright lavender as they spoke about _profiteroles_ and _petites madeleines_ and _éclairs_.

He woke up feeling a little out of sorts, but who wouldn't with dreams like that?

-0-

"Captain!"

Pent turned, somewhat alarmed that anyone would call him with such a sense of urgency in their voice. The thought of a battle looming in the very near future gripped him, though the fact that he was the head command for the time being actually relieved him of his greatest concern, that he would have to stand down again for no good reason at all and leave their allies in the lurch. But it seemed to have nothing to do with fighting at all; there was only a young man with wild brown hair, probably no older than Pent himself, running to him with hands upraised as if the young man were invisible otherwise.

"Yes, what is it?" Pent asked when the young man was close enough to hear without making it necessary to raise his voice. They were already drawing looks as it was, especially when the other man bent over in apparent exhaustion once he reached Pent.

"Whew...I hate running...anyway." Straightening up, the young man pointed over his shoulder towards the direction he had run from. "Captain, we need one more person to help us set up a tent over there."

Pent tried not to frown at this. "I would think all the tents were already in place."

"Uh, well, it kind of was, but it tipped over just now a little bit..."

"A little bit?"

The young man blushed. "A lot, okay? Nestor and I got it upright, but we need someone tall like you to fix it up right from the inside. So..."

"All right, I'll assist you."

After he said this, Pent noticed how much the other man brightened up in response--somehow, he had the feeling that uplift in mood would last until he inquired as to how the tent managed to tip over, as there wasn't even a breeze since the morning fog had cleared. However, he figured he could be lenient so long as he was unable to observe a rise in tent collapses. Without a word, they came to the site of the fallen tent, where an older man--perhaps in his late twenties or early thirties, in Pent's estimation--was pounding stakes into the rocky ground. This Nestor, if Pent was correct, looked surprised when he noticed them approaching.

"Thomas," Nestor said with the same tone of disapproval Pent had once heard quite often during his school days--aimed at other students, of course, "you shouldn't trouble the captain with a trifling matter like this."

"But the captain was the only person who didn't start laughing and walk away!" Thomas protested, to which the older man stared without any mercy in his eyes or the cast of his angular features. At this point, Pent decided to intercede, if only on behalf of the tent.

"You needn't worry about it. This sort of work is important, too." Nodding towards the flattened tent, Pent asked, "What do you need me to do?"

"The frame on the inside of the tent will need to be adjusted. Thankfully, this is an unused tent, but it may see use in the coming weeks." Pent could only raise an eyebrow at these words; he hadn't any idea that new soldiers would be arriving soon, but perhaps this Nestor had stayed with this campaign long enough to know these things. After driving the last stake through, Nestor stood up, running one hand through his dark blond hair. "I appreciate your willingness to help, Captain."

"Don't mention it," Pent said with a smile. "Let's begin."

-0-

"I want a report from that woman about her squad's recent activities," was the order Pent received from his commander during the lull between letter and reply, and he had to admit that being given an order in such a rude and unsatisfying way did not improve his mood any. It was the kind of order that improved nothing by it being spoken: not the commander, who was disrespectful; not the commanded, who felt disrespected; not the last who would be ordered by proxy, because Commander Leto was certainly not seeking improvement from any Etrurian and had made that very clear by now.

So ordered, Pent approached the pegasus knight compound, adjacent to the Etrurian camp while at the same time completely separated from it. How this had been managed without solid brick or stone walls he hadn't any idea, but he'd never heard of any Etrurian lingering by the boundary of a simple wooden fence or, for that matter, even attempting to talk to any of the pegasus knights. The feeling between the two camps was as frosty as any of the winters he had spent as a fosterling child in his grandfather's home, up north near the Ilian border. As he had not sufficiently developed his magical abilities at that time, Pent could still remember well the sting of winter winds and the dull numbness that set into the skin and sunk deep into the flesh, though they were from a distant time. For this reason alone, even now that neither cold nor hot weather bothered him to such an extreme degree, he still kept away from overly cold weather.

If only he could keep from entering overly cold situations as well, he thought with some bitterness.

By the simple gate there was a pegasus knight, who looked impossibly young to be carrying a lance with her as she demurely stood in place; her bobbed dark blue hair, coupled with her round, pale face, gave her a childish appearance that, he imagined, not even the heat of the battle could change. Louise, for all her bright smiles and effortless charm, could affect a womanly boldness in her throes of determination that were far beyond her purported fifteen years of life. When the young girl noticed him, her eyes lit up and a smile touched her lips before she visibly shook her head and became serious. "Good day to you, Captain," she greeted.

"Good day. May I speak with your commander?"

The young girl lowered her gaze. "Ah...um, I can do that. W-wait here." When she turned around and walked away, Pent couldn't help but think that he had just gotten her into trouble, a thought that soured his mood further. However much he didn't care for his own commander's feelings regarding the pegasus knights, he had to admit that Commander Leto was just as problematic.

He had not waited long before a figure began strolling towards him from within the light fog that was beginning to swirl around the tents, and soon he saw that it wasn't Commander Leto but one of her two vice-commanders. Her gray-purple hair was tied back in an elaborate braid and the look in her brown eyes was considerably kinder than any stare he had ever received from her commander's black eyes. She raised a hand as she drew near. "Captain, it's a pleasure to see you," she said with all the formality he had received from nobility back home.

"Pardon," he started, though he was wondering why he would even mention this, "but I'm here to receive a report from your commander about the recent movements of--"

"Yes, absolutely. I'm here to provide that."

Pausing at the unexpected interruption, Pent waited a moment before he said, "If I may inquire, why did she send you?"

A slight smile touched her lips, though the vice-commander's eyes no longer held their kindness. "Am I inadequate?"

"No, absolutely not," he hurried to soothe her. "Just...your commander seems like the type of person who would prefer to stand up to people whenever possible."

"Are you saying she's combative, Captain?"

"Only that she is very straightforward."

The gray-haired pegasus knight nodded slightly, wrinkles creasing her brow as she frowned. "I did not want to fulfill this part of the order I was given, but as you seem interested in knowing my commander's reasons, please let me do so now. My commander has told me to inform you that she does not wish to breathe the same air as a feckless, hypocritical teenage boy with the spine of a worm. You're like any other noble, with their pretty words and no guts to follow them through." She paused, then gave him a pitying look. "I had to alter some of that, but the meaning is the same."

"...Ah, I see." Pent exhaled through his nose, then looked down. He found that he was not angry at the words--he was not angry at all. That was why he could say, with complete sincerity, "I can't defend myself from those words. She isn't wrong to think that of me."

"Yes, but..." The vice-commander shook her head. "Can you really accept that? Don't you have any pride as a man?"

He looked at her, somewhat surprised at the heat behind her words. "It isn't the pride that I lack, but the conviction to bestow truth to my words. For that, I deeply apologize to your commander."

"Understood." Smiling now, she stretched out her hand. "My name is Gracia of Argos. As the first vice-commander of the second wing of the Pegasus Knights Brigade and newly-appointed liaison to your army, it's nice to meet you. Though our armies may have bad blood between them, we should do our best to get along."

"Pent, of Reglay. It's a pleasure to meet you as well." He took her hand, and something about the strength of her grip reminded him so keenly of Louise that the resulting weight of nostalgia nearly knocked the senses out of him. It was approaching late summer, and the wait for a new reply always made him somewhat disconsolate.

But, he reasoned as he let go of Gracia's hand, making new friends should ease that edge somewhat. Hopefully.

-0-

"Captain!"

Pent turned his head; the voice calling for him had sounded vaguely familiar. He was proved correct moments later when he saw one of the archers, a young man with wild, light brown hair, waving from where he sat with some other soldiers. It was lunchtime and Pent had his hands full with a plate of food, intending to take it back to his tent and work on his reply to Louise, but it would be rude of him to simply ignore or avoid someone calling specifically for him. He waited until the young man was near, all the while trying to remember where he had last seen him. "Thomas, correct?" he murmured aloud at a hazy memory from weeks ago.

"You remember me?" Thomas said, smiling widely and without reservation. "Great! Do you want to eat with us?"

Louise's letter, or improved army cohesion? It was a terrible choice, and Pent noticed that, the longer he hesitated, the more Thomas' smile began to waver. _Forgive me, Louise_, Pent thought before he nodded at the other man. "Sure."

Thomas grinned. "All right! Come this way, Captain!"

Bemused, Pent followed him, weaving around other groups of soldiers. Lunch was a great socializing period here, perhaps even moreso than at his old academy, because their command was adept at giving them busy work or training, and even more adept at punishment for any lack of discipline observed. Certainly that was fine, and to some extent expected, but Pent disliked that his commander preferred that Pent carry out the discipline, which in turn made him quite unpopular. This was why he usually ate in his tent.

But there was no escaping today, not even with the promise of Louise's letter, as he sighted the group Thomas had indicated before. There was that other man Pent vaguely remembered assisting, Nestor, as well as some others of various ages--most of them were as young as himself or Thomas, and a scant couple perhaps older than Nestor. It was that man who was first to see them, and first to speak these words: "Do you have to keep annoying the captain?"

"What? I'm not annoying him!" Thomas burst out at the same time Pent said, "No, I'm not annoyed." Thomas looked at him with wide eyes, then jabbed a finger towards him while exclaiming, "See, I told you!"

One of the other soldiers looked up from his bowl of stew and arched an eyebrow. "Oh, it's Captain Punishment. I'm just eating here, not doing anything wrong."

As much as he wanted to refute the man's claim regarding that nickname--no more appreciated than Commander Leto's--Pent knew that he had to accept certain realities regarding his actions; "I was commanded to do so," was not an effective defense by any means. His commander had made sure he understood that his duties to the army included overseeing 'offenders'--rather an arbitrary title from the way Pent had watched Commander Michael single out his victims--as they were forced to do laborious menial work better suited for a group of men, rather than a handful of them forced to complete it in a shockingly short amount of time. Pent especially hated that he could do nothing to ease their burden, forced only to watch as those being punished worked themselves to exhaustion. To do nothing but carry out his orders with perfect deference--as a noble, as a human being, that was not his way. He had to do it now, and that was why he was a...how was it put to him, a 'feckless, spineless so-and-so' and such?

(He would not let himself remember the actual insult; knowing that they were a censored version of the real thing left him feeling...troubled, at best. It goes without saying that he had omitted the incident when it came time to reply to Louise once again.)

"Leave him alone," said another soldier, giving him a brief apologetic look before redirecting his attention back to the other man. "We all know it's because of the commander. He was doing this with the other captains, too."

The first soldier looked up from his bowl. "So he's just the commander's bitch, then? That makes it better?"

Pent was not going to dignify that with an answer.

"Hey, stop it," Thomas interceded. "Remember what Nestor always says about 'acting in a manner that brings dignity to your position." Everyone scoffed at this, save for Pent and Nestor, the latter appearing a little put out at the reference. "Ah, speaking of dignity. Captain, you're a noble, right?"

It was no great secret, unlike the record of the crime his father and former steward committed. Pent inclined his head in agreement. "I am."

Thomas opened his mouth, but another young man spoke before he could get a word out. "Oh? You can't be that special if you got sent here. Maybe a second or third son?"

"Probably a bastard," the soldier with an apparent grudge muttered. Someone whistled in response. Pent smiled thinly.

"Hardly."

"Can I talk?" Thomas yelled, to which suspicious murmurs rose. After glaring until everyone quieted, he faced Pent. "I need to know which noble family has the hibiscus insignia. They're a military family, right? Who is it?"

"Well." There were a couple facts that stood out to Pent, but Thomas seemed too agitated to listen to a full explanation regarding the arcane symbolism inherent to heraldry. He considered, then said, "Noble families who have earned a title through exemplary military service are represented by a depiction of a tree, not a flower. That is limited to nobility who have been granted their titles due to other factors. As for the symbol itself...I'm not aware of any family that uses a...hibiscus, was it? Is that a foreign flower?"

"It's a tropical flower from the southern islands, but they've thrived in my county since before my grandpa's time."

"If it's common there, then is this family your local lord?"

Thomas shook his head. "No, I...I guess I'll explain. I'm from the western part of Etruria, right next to the rivers. I'm better with a bow than a fishing rod, so I used to go out hunting. Birds, the occasional doe or boar...my family's pretty big and Dad's got something wrong with his left arm so he can't work metal anymore, so since I'm the oldest I'd taken up the duties of providing for my family.

"One day, I went out with a couple friends to hunt up some game. This was before winter, so I was looking to take home something big. We traveled for days into another county, and we got into this forest. I sighted this huge boar and got separated from my friends chasing after it. When I finally shot it down..." He furrowed his brow, hair hanging over his face as he lowered his head. "I got arrested for stealing because the entire forest belonged to some big-shot noble, got sentenced to sixteen months of punishment, and sent here."

"You've been here since January, and it's already almost September now," said one of the soldiers. "Hang in there. You'll survive yet." Pent watched as Thomas tried to smile, although he could detect the stress in the young man's eyes.

_How despicable_, Pent thought. _Arrested and burdened with such a terrible sentence for simply trying to feed his family? I don't understand this at all. I would have thought the king to be better than this..._

Then, he realized that his thoughts were all wrong. A commoner like Thomas would never have had his case heard by the king. He had most likely had his fate left entirely in the hands of the noble who had accused him of the crime, this house of the hibiscus with considerable pull with a high-ranking military official. Something came to mind, and Pent hastened to share it. "Of course, if an established noble family has a member enter the military, the insignia would not change," he said.

"So then? Who is it?" To these questions, Pent could only shake his head.

"There are many noble sons who have positions in the military."

Thomas looked dejected, as did many of their audience. After some moments of mostly silence, where everyone had found time to focus on their food again, one of the group asked, "So, what about you, Captain? What's your crime?"

"Debauchery!" someone cried out before Pent could speak, prompting laughter. To this, he could only offer a weak smile and a shake of his head.

"Well, it has to be something good if you got sent all the way out here," someone else reasoned.

"Would you believe," Pent started, "that I'm merely accepting a punishment in the place of someone else?" This only gave an excuse for louder, more raucous laughter. Sighing inwardly, Pent returned to his cooling stew, noticing Nestor's piercing stare during the glance he gave to the crowd around him. But when he gave himself to his curious impulse and studied the older soldier, the other man had already lowered his head to his bowl and would not look up for anything at all.

-0-

It was already past the requisite two weeks of enforced waiting, and Pent had fully intended to distract himself as best as he could during the interval before this unexpected delay. The mail had arrived on time, so the problem was on Louise's end--a fact that made him even more anxious the more he dwelt upon it. It was no surprise that he dwelt upon it often, because all he had here was time.

"Is my report too boring for you?"

"No, not at all," Pent said automatically, glancing at Gracia's face before looking away. They were seated outside a tent in the pegasus knight area of the camp despite the lingering chill in the air; he had no interest in doing anything that would urge rumors into blooming, so to suggest going inside was out of the question.

A soft chuckle drew his attention back to her. "My report bores _me_. You already know about the skirmish last week, and since then we've not sighted any trouble. There, let's talk about something more interesting."

He smiled. "What would you like to discuss?"

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

Pent studied her for a moment, trying to ascertain from her expression why she would ever broach that sort of topic. There was interest on her face, as well as a subtle amusement dancing in her brown eyes. "I'm engaged to marry," he answered slowly.

"An arranged marriage?"

"Not quite." It wouldn't do to explain the particulars, and his feelings now were--well, he had hardly the words to do them justice. When he was able to see Louise again, maybe then he could examine them without their distance enhancing their past with the tantalizing haze of nostalgia.

Grinning, Gracia shook her head. "I think I lost the bet, then."

"Pardon me?"

"We bet on what sort of 'romantic entanglement' you had, if any." She looked at him, her expression that of clear amusement. "None of us thought you were willingly engaged, though someone did think you were married already."

He wasn't so sure he was very amused by this. "And what was your supposition?"

"I thought...well, I thought you had no one at all."

"Do I seem so lonely?"

There was a slight pinkness to her pale face. "Not that, but just very self-possessed. Like you don't need anyone at all."

This was so far away from what Louise had assumed about him before their first meeting that Pent was momentarily stunned. "I am human, and humans are social beings," he responded. "Certainly even someone like myself would find comfort in another person."

"I've offended you, haven't I?" Waving a hand, she smiled at him. "Let's change the subject."

"How long have you been a pegasus knight?"

"Officially? Since I was eleven. I entered the third wing when I was sixteen, and became vice-commander there at eighteen. After my commander retired, I decided to work under the legendary Black Swan rather than embarrass myself in taking over my former commander's position." Perhaps his confusion was reflected on his face, for Gracia smiled widely at him. "That's Commander Leto's sobriquet. All the best pegasus knights have them."

Pent nodded. "I see. And what is yours?"

She laughed, a sudden burst of joy under the cloudy skies. "Well, that was smooth! I'm honored! But no, I'm not good enough to have one, and anyway I can't imagine what anyone would call me. 'The Lavender Death'?"

"Lavender?"

She held up a loose lock of her gray hair. "See? This is lavender."

The vivid color of Louise's eyes still haunted him at night, but he tried to be kind. "I see."

"The Black Swan...that's not such a bad name. It's intimidating, yet complimentary. But I always loved my first commander's name the best." Tucking back her hair behind one ear, then the other, Gracia smiled. "'Cyclone Amaranth.' It was perfect for her."

"What is an 'amaranth'?" Pent asked.

"A flower. You'll notice, if you ever get the chance, that many Ilian women have names of flowers, or things like 'Flora.'" Her smile tapered. "Her name means 'eternity,' but she quit long before she could have become a legend. She was going to be the next flightleader, the head of the entire Pegasus Knight Brigade, before she reached her twentieth birthday. I'd watch her on the battlefield dominating our enemies with but a single swing of her lance..." In her light eyes, there was a sorrowful look that made Pent uneasy to see it. He wanted to comfort her, but had no idea where to begin--what would be all right for him to do.

"You said she retired," was all he could think to say. Gracia nodded, head lowered.

"She received a small injury, a nick to her thigh by an arrow, and suddenly it was as if she realized her own mortality. She--I wouldn't call her a coward, I'd never say that, but she began to avoid battle until she suddenly retired and left to work in the pegasus knight office in Aquleia." Gracia's lips were one thin line. "She only talked to our general about it. She never even said a word to me."

Distinctly uncomfortable now, Pent said nothing at all. After a moment, Gracia seemed to notice, for she suddenly straightened up in her seat, something bright and vicious animating her delicate facial features.

"Never mind that! I won't call her a coward, but if I ever see her again, I'll call her a fool! We're told in training that, every time a pegasus knight falls from her pegasus, a hundred Ilians die. She may not have ever fallen from her pegasus, but she fell in her heart. That's even worse than dying! The day she left, I told myself that I'd never fall, not from my Melonie and never in my heart." She stood, drawing herself to her full height as she looked down at him. "You have to understand that too, Pent! Your pride and your conviction are what make you _you_. They're what build your integrity and make you a person worth following. You won't make your fiancée proud so long as you accept Commander Leto's words without even raising one word of objection!"

As Gracia was usually calm, this sudden ferocity was a shock to Pent, one that he took--he felt--surprisingly well. Spurred by the sudden emotional outpouring from her side, he said, "I haven't received a reply from her recently. It worries me. I can hardly inspire pride in her if I can't even contact her, correct?"

"...Um, that's..." Slumping down into her seat, Gracia seemed to have lost her fire. Her forearms lay limply in her lap as a troubled look crossed her face. "I don't know about the relationship you two share, if you're both truly devoted to each other or there's a sense of obligation, but if you're sincere about wanting to change then it shouldn't matter if you can talk to her or not. I'd think you'd always want to be the best man you can be, even when she's not watching."

"Ah," Pent said, suddenly embarrassed and unable to fully suppress it as his face grew warm. "I'm something of a fool, aren't I?"

Gracia smiled kindly, in such a way that seemed she was without judgment or pity, and he could not help but think that her name truly suited her.

-0-

It was in the middle of October when Louise's next letter arrived. It took every ounce of willpower he had to not open the thick envelope right there in front of the ferryman, but perhaps military life had taught him well in that aspect as well. Though, he still opened it before Raike's weekly report, just this once. Her letter was full of stories of her time spent back in her home county in time for the next archery tournament, how her paternal aunt and uncle and cousins had arrived in order to fully close the question regarding the inheritance of her father's lands. She wrote of days spent riding with her cousins and aunt, her awkwardness around the uncle she barely knew, and how it felt to practice archery alongside her aunt, who had first taught her to open her heart to that martial art. She apologized often about the lateness of her reply, how she wanted to collect enough material to last him for some time without boring him too quickly.

He read the letter twice beside the flickering light of his lantern, poring over every word written in that interesting hand where every letter that could accept circles and loops did, so that in the end her writing looked positively effervescent. In particularly animated passages he could almost catch the bright tones of her voice, high and cheerful and always backed with a smile.

But, he could only read the letter so many times before its effect began to fade. When it did, he set it down. Later, he would try to recapture that feeling, where warmth and lightness reigned over his normal frame of mind.

With a feeling of resignation, he realized that he was being overly obsessive. Here was her letter; she was fine. Knowing that, he had no need to dwell on it any further--but he did. The letter had been read twice over, so he would have to write a reply. And then, the long wait again. That long wait, which no matter how much he filled it with work and growing friendships, was still ever present, ever there. Irony, he thought, hateful irony.

_I was never lonelier than after I had met you._

-end-

I find it kind of funny that Pent's stories end up shorter than Louise's; his narration is more straightforward than her's, both in style and content, and his only goal at the moment is to just survive, no matter his ethical concerns regarding a number of topics. I enjoy writing both, and in fact the difference in their narrative structures and goals make writing every story in this series very exciting and challenging. I hope you feel the same way when you read these stories! The next story will be out on 4/5.

'Planting Dragon Teeth': Are you familiar with the Greek myth regarding the founding of Thebes? Cadmus, its founder, was banished from his home to look for his sister, who had been carried off by Zeus. Along the way he ended up fighting, and killing, a serpentine dragon sacred to Ares (which would eventually cause him to be transformed into a serpent at the end of his life). The goddess Athena instructed him to take the dragon's teeth and plant them; when he did so, fully armored men rose from the ground and immediately began fighting each other until only a few were left. These few helped him build Thebes and became ancestors of the Thebian nobles. It may be a little roundabout, like the last story's title, but it does make sense, right?


	19. A Drifting Dandelion Seed

Bouquet

(C) Intelligent Systems and Nintendo

-0-

A Drifting Dandelion Seed: Garden Marigold, Cinquefoil, Marigold  
(_uneasiness touches the beloved daughter--there is too much pain here_)

1.

At the tail end of August, that month of dark heat that always wore Louise down and forced her to seek shelter indoors, she received a letter from her mother.

_Come home, Louise. Your aunt and uncle have been found, and as the former heiress it is necessary for you to be present._

Louise obeyed.

2.

"It's been a long time, hasn't it, Celia?" Louise murmured for what had to be the fifth or sixth time--the words came even more easily to her, now that her lips were so used to forming them. She said them in Etruscan, she said them in the common tongue, alternating between the two as if that one sentence would surely sound more pleasant if she could only find the right way to say it.

It did not. Not yet, at any rate. She would only have to try harder as the carriage rushed ever closer to Alloway--to home.

"Yes, it has been," Celia answered, as she always did. But then, a wrinkle! "Lady Louise, do you perhaps not want to go back?"

"Mm?" Tangling her fingers together, Louise resolutely aimed her face at the carriage window that allowed the sunlight and heat to penetrate their little carriage. "I wouldn't go that far, really. I only...became used to Castle Reglay."

There was a pause, and then, "Even those dreadful invitations?"

Louise bit her lip. Though she had now been receiving the pleasure of a few invitations to tea with the daughters of Reglay's titled nobility, and in one memorable case a viscountess herself, they were miserable affairs that would be best left in the moment and not dragged around behind her as she shed her last few vestiges of girlhood and became a woman. While she maintained her positive, optimistic outlook with a sort of ferocity more suited for her dear mother, tea and those things she was beginning to associate with that break in the day were forcing reactions in her that she cared for not in the least.

"It's necessary to establish ties within Reglay," she finally said. "If some of them could be swayed to keep under the current order and not rebel against Lord Pent..."

"House Reglay, isn't it?"

"Lord Pent is House Reglay. He's all of it, alone." Even thinking of it made Louise terribly sad; to say it out loud and confirm its truth and adherence to reality hurt her heart terribly. Lord Pent was alone no matter were he was, whether in Reglay or the Western Isles; he had spoken of people he had gotten to know there, but she still had urges to fly to where he was--perhaps on the back of Madame Amy's beautiful pegasus--whenever she read a line that struck her sensitive nature as being all wrong for him, her dear lord.

And, she was lonely without him, too. To see his pleasure in teasing her, to walk hand-in-hand with him, to roam and explore and introduce new places to each other...there were only a few of these memories, but they sat in the back of her mind much like the comforting presence of the knowledge that there would always be a glorious spring after winter, and to search these memories gave her relief during her more stressful adventures at Reglay.

She would like more of these memories. She would like a whole lifetime of them.

3.

"What's this? You've grown tall, haven't you?" her mother said in admiring tones not long after they disengaged from their customary embrace--Louise having thrown herself into her mother's arms and her mother accepting her with a peal of laughter that instantly put her to ease.

"Have I?" Louise asked, placing her hand on the crown of her head and swiping it forward, her palm only the barest bit tickled by her mother's dark hair. "Oh! I hadn't even noticed!"

Chuckling, her mother said, "Then perhaps I'll order a new wardrobe for you before you leave. We've got a few weeks, which should be just enough time to get your trunks in order."

The mention of the time she would spend here fairly alarmed Louise, though she fought mightily to keep that hidden from her dear mother. "A few weeks? But, I have to return to Reglay--"

"You haven't been home in over three months and the instant you arrive you're already thinking about when you can leave?" her mother said in a frightful tone of voice. "Louise, I raised you better than that! Even if something displeases you, as a lady you should learn to bear it. And..." Her mother looked away so that Louise could only see the frown as it marred her mother's profile. "Are you so unhappy here?"

"No, Mother, I was only surprised. I will do as you say," Louise said quickly, attempting as well as she could to placate her mother, who still refused to look in her direction.

"I'm disappointed. I've finally forced your father to see that attempting to dissuade you from the path you've chosen will only break both your hearts, and now I hear that even three weeks would be too much to ask of you." Her mother glanced at her. "Or, rather, were you afraid of your father's response? You've never been a cowardly sort, true, but there were ill feelings between the two of you when you left so abruptly."

Looking down, Louise shook her head. "I hold no anger towards Father. It is only that Lord Pent's situation is still a precarious one."

"Is it so important that he be a count and you a countess?"

"In time, Lord Pent will be a splendid count. I only wish to see that. As for me...I find I'm not terribly suited to be a trueborn noblewoman if it means I must spend my life dodging slings and arrows..." She was about to say more, but the words were suddenly clogged inside her throat and she found it most distressing that her face was growing hot. Before she could even raise her hand to her mouth, she found herself enveloped fully into her mother's embrace. Child that she was, Louise could only press her face against the crook of her mother's shoulder.

"Oh, Louise," her mother breathed close to her ear. "We only rarely have the luxury of being placed where we feel we are best served. If you feel you must do this, then see it through to the end."

_Mother, I will_, Louise spoke inside her heart of hearts, the only place her voice was still audible for as long as that strange obstruction that was her rising emotions stayed tight in her throat.

_I promise._

-0-

Louise found that her mother almost never employed lies, being far too honest with herself to adopt a policy of dishonesty when it came to her fellow human beings, but her mother did not consider a certain amount of dissembling as a lie, per se. Rather, it was only the discreet shadowing of the truth.

The truth was this: Father was still unhappy. Only, now that she had arrived, he did not speak one word about where she had been, where she would go once everything was settled, and where she would stay for good once Lord Pent was released. He spoke as if she had been living under his roof the entire summer, relating stories about what the tenant farmers were doing, how his fields had long exceeded the quota for the late spring and summer crops, and how he looked to be doing the same for the big autumn harvest.

"Your aunt had better hurry if she wants to be counted in for the _Festival d'Armements_ this year, since it starts in two weeks," her father commented during dinner, slight as it was due to the heat of the day. "I only hope she's in Ostia by now."

Smiling, Louise asked, "Where did you find her, Father?"

"My man found her in Tania, all the way on the other side of Lycia. That family of her lives like Sacaean nomads, always in one place or another." He shook his head before dipping his spoon into his vichyssoise.

Her mother scoffed. "If it works for the Sacaeans, it should work for a wildling like your sister." With a comment as bold as that, common to the Émile table during the course of even the smallest tea breaks, Louise made sure to keep herself occupied with her cold soup as her father twisted his lips into a scowl.

"Catherine, that reminds me. I won't tolerate your baiting my sister into those wars of wit you so like. It's embarrassing to endure."

"Oh, come now. If you haven't noticed, dearest, she does well enough by herself. I've no interest in demurely accepting her taunts, you understand."

"Wherever your interest lies, just leave it alone." Louise noticed when his eyes fell upon her, but her heart noticed more when he looked away. "Let's keep things pleasant this time. We haven't been together like this in such a long time...about a decade now."

The hitch in his voice, the adjustment of time--these things were obvious to Louise as to what was truly on her father's mind. Not even her mother could rouse him again for another game of retorts, and dinner ended quietly without another glance from her father's blue eyes.

-0-

Clothed for bed, Louise avoided glancing at that which was tightly grasped in her hands: a bundle of Lord Pent's letters, neatly tied together with a bit of ice-blue ribbon she had purchased at Reglay Castle's surrounding city. She couldn't avoid them for too long, as even Celia was in bed by now, but--oh! What she was contemplating was a little childish, and yet...a child hadn't recommended this, this _charm_. Madame Amy herself had said...

_"Do you know, Lady Louise, what happens if you sleep with your lover's letters underneath your pillow?"_

_"M-my lover?"_

_"Oh, you know, your paramour, your betrothed, whatever you call him inside your mind. But have you heard of it?"_

_"No, I can't say I have."_

_"Really? I heard this was an Etrurian charm. If you sleep with his letters under your pillow, you'll dream about him."_

_"Oh...does it work?"_

_"Well, I've never had to try, but I should hope so. Since you'll be going home for some time, I thought you might like to try it. It might give you some comfort while you're away from Lord Pent's home."_

At that time, Louise had stammered out her gratitude, truly touched by Madame Amy's consideration for her, but she had not really considered going through with such an act. She was nearly an adult, wasn't she? Wouldn't it be silly for her to indulge in this, whatever this was? But then, Madame Amy was an entire decade older and she had known of such charms. And really, what would be the harm in undertaking such girlish pursuits? She was still yet a girl, after all.

To be able to be reunited with Lord Pent in some small way...though she was learning patience and his letters did soothe her anxiety in some small measure, to see him again, to hear him again--these things were a lure that captured her heart fully.

Hurriedly, she stuffed the bundle of letters under her pillows, then moved to turn out the light before anyone should come calling to question her about the act she had just committed. Safely hidden in the darkness, she moved towards her bed and very carefully placed herself upon it, the light summer bedding up to her chin before she found it safe to relax.

When morning came, Louise awoke to the sight of the sunrise streaming through her window, setting her room aflame with rivers of gold. Laying there for some time, she found she could not remember her dreams, or even if she had dreamed at all. There was only a small happiness inside her heart, just as tiny and insistent as a growing bud of a plant, and it was enough.

It was nice to wake without having to wipe at the dried trails of tears that had stained her cheeks during the night, for once.

4.

"Well, well, is _this_ Louise?"

Because Louise had last seen her Aunt Charlotte at the young age of six, the memory she held of her aunt was dreamlike and soft. In it, her aunt was tall and curvaceous, scandalous and comfortable in a pair of pants and a belted tunic, her long blond hair the color of shimmering waves of summer wheat and her eyes a darker, brighter shade of sky blue compared to her younger brother's light blue eyes. Ten years later, that image had become much changed: her aunt was stouter, with a heavier bosom that her loose tunic did not completely succeed in concealing, her face lined with laugh lines in her greater age but still quite pleasant to behold. However, of that beautiful hair Louise had admired as a child, so bright and soft and thick and long, there was little hint of its prior state save for the chin-length bob of straw-gold hair, greasy with the days of hard travel she must have endured from eastern Lycia to western Etruria. Yet--and Louise was truly horrified to realize these feelings inside herself--she was disappointed. Her mother and father had changed in the course of her life, true, but not to the extent that Aunt Charlotte had been altered.

Perhaps her aunt was disappointed in what stood before her as well, for she sent a twisted little smile in her brother's direction. "Gérald," she said in accented common tongue, "your daughter looks like a dainty little flower. I suppose she suits Cathy's purpose that way, then?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," Louise's mother retorted, her dark brows drawn together. "And please try to remember that my name is Catherine."

"Isn't that what I just called you? Anyway, Louise, what are you doing just standing there? Aren't you going to come closer?" Her aunt beckoned her with her arms wide open; though she was still troubled by the internal dissonance between memory and reality, Louise complied readily, stepping into the circle of her aunt's arms and embracing her tightly. Aunt Charlotte's arms were as strong and solid as any archer's arms should be, something that comforted Louise greatly--the woman who had introduced archery to her still adhered to the practice! No matter how much time had changed them, some things still held true and strong as any natural fact of the world. How wonderful!

The embrace ended much too soon for Louise's tastes, but she found new pleasures as her aunt twirled her forward to meet the rest of her family--her uncle and cousins. "You may not remember, but that's your Uncle Gregory," Aunt Charlotte said as she indicated the tall, lanky green-haired man, who smirked and held up a hand in greeting. "Thankfully, none of our sons inherited his hair color," her aunt whispered in her ear, and Louise blushed at the thought. The two sons were roughly around Louise's age, one older, one younger. "Joshua is seventeen, Isaac fourteen," her aunt continued. "Boys, greet your lovely cousin."

It was Joshua who approached first, his bright golden hair no different in color from Louise's own. "It's a pleasure," he said in Lycian-accented Etruscan, the words accompanied by a sweet smile.

Pleased surprise caused Louise to smile back. "You can speak Etruscan?"

"I'm the only one who can speak it fluently, but both Jacob and Isaac can speak it to some extent." He looked over his shoulder at his brother. "Isaac, what's wrong? Come closer and say hello."

"Um..." Isaac, his loose blond hair brushing his shoulders, inched up to his brother, his eyes wide and fixated on Louise, who regarded this curiously--she could never imagine someone being so interested in her, so that must not be the case. She continued to hold fast to this belief until her younger cousin opened his mouth and said, in a shy manner, "You're very pretty, Cousin Louise."

She blushed as her family began to laugh. "...Thank you."

-0-

In Reglay, Louise was considered something very nearly an adult, though she still had four more months to wait before she reached the age of majority. Master Raike spoke to her as though she were an adult, one whose thoughts and opinions mattered, and though most of the servants kept clear of her she still felt as though she could effect change in the castle, were it necessary. In Alloway, however, she was a child, and thus was not allowed to sit at the discussion that would decide who was now the new Émile heir. Just like her cousins, she was told to go outside and play--though not quite in those words.

She and Joshua found themselves on horseback--herself on trustworthy Marion, he on the daredevil sorrel Nicholas--as they rode out over the fields and to the narrow strip of beach. Due to the balmy weather, there were many people already there, most of them with fishing rods and wooden buckets to bring back their catch. Children ran and shouted, and adolescents of both sexes collected mussels. The sea breeze was enticing, and Louise shivered in delight as it made the hem of her white linen dress dance above her knees, modestly covered with magenta leggings. She had wished for her sand-colored moccasins while riding around home, which was suffering terribly from the heat, but now that she had arrived at the beach she found that her deerskin boots served better at keeping the sand from her skin, though she sank in the sand a little easier. Joshua laughed as she misjudged her step and cried out in surprise as she sunk in a little too deep, though he helped pull her out. They each commandeered their horses along the sand, talking in idle observations, and it was only after a kind young man with a whole string of small fish cooked up two at a small pit fire when Joshua's wide smile dimmed.

"Hey, Louise. Is it true that you're getting married soon?"

She bit her lower lip, trying to hide her embarrassed smile--but still a smile, undeniably so--as she puzzled out the sudden question. "Not for another year, not yet."

Joshua seemed to ruminate on her words for a moment, chewing thoughtfully on a bit of fish in the same way a cow its cud, then looked away from her. "Mom and Dad weren't told much about it when the messenger came, just that one of us was needed as the new heir. Who are you marrying that you would need to leave Alloway?"

"Where is your older brother?" Louise asked, partly to keep his question at bay, partly because no one had seemed to remark on it; even she had forgotten. Joshua shook his head with a smile.

"I asked first."

She was vaguely aware of the fact that neither her aunt nor her uncle cared for the nobility of Etruria; hence, why they had left for a nomadic hunter's life in Lycia. It was not terribly strange for her uncle, who did hail from one of Lycia's cantons, but her aunt, she had heard, was once Uncle Aramis' intended. She felt she would be antagonized if it were revealed just who she would be marrying, and thus she decided that the full truth was unnecessary. "I'll be moving to Reglay after the wedding."

"Reglay? Where is that?"

"It's two days northeast by carriage. It's quite a bustling place."

"So you've already visited this man," he mused. "He must be gentry too...a merchant?"

"Um...no. He's a noble."

Joshua looked at her, his expression worn only by the alarmed. "What are you doing with one of those?"

"I was..." 'Chosen by him' would be the correct phrase, but there was something about it that she hated so, something she had detested even more so after her mother had noted it for herself, that night at the ball so long ago now. "I wanted to be with him, and...he wanted..." But to complete that sentence would be a supposition of Lord Pent's feelings that she was not altogether sure she should make, and so she trailed off uncomfortably, painfully aware of how it sounded as the words echoed hollowly in her mind.

"He wanted you." There was a curious note in Joshua's words, one that Louise did not like at all. "So he can just have you now? And what will you do once he no longer wants you?"

"That won't..." But to assume she knew Lord Pent's mind and heart was a fatal error even she could not make. Joshua shook his head, fine golden hair moving this way and that.

"My brother got married, and we all know it's a mistake because...he made a mistake and now he has to go through with it. But he's not the type of person who can stay with one girl, and nobles are just like that..." There was frustration on his face, and Louise did not like to see it. If she could turn away she would, but a part of her longed for his next words. "Is he always going to have your best interests in mind? Is he always going to place you first? I don't really know you, but you're family. I, I have to worry."

There, that was that. It was not true condemnation of Lord Pent, but rather anxiety of the unknown by a concerned member of her family. Louise relaxed enough to smile. "Thank you for caring about me. I don't know about the future, but with him by my side...I'm looking forward to it, a bit." She could feel her face warm at her bold words, and in return Joshua gave her the most complex look she had ever received: his brows drawn, his dark turquoise eyes half-lidded, and the tiniest hint of a smile struggling through wrinkles of disapproval. Finally, he shook his head and turned away from her.

"I don't understand, but if you say so I'll...believe you." He glanced at her, a smirk clear on his face. "I bet you don't want me to tell my parents about any of this, right? I'm not sure what your own parents will tell them, but if Mom hears this she'll probably blame your mom."

Nervousness made her heart pound. "Why is that?"

"Who knows. My mom's weird that way. So, um..."

They spent a pleasant day at the beach, and when they returned they were greeted with the news that Joshua would become the new heir. Louise was happy for him, though stunned by the news that she would receive an inheritance of four thousand gold a year for as long as the Émile fortune could support it. This, on top of her dowry, an amount she was not privy to but her father was not terribly pleased with, made her realize her monetary worth--how much all her decisions cost her family up to this point in her life, how much they might yet have to pay until her family name was changed.

Was she worth so much? Truly?

5.

_Oh no_, Louise thought in sinking, abject despair. _I can't believe I had forgotten it..._

After the destruction of her bow on the road to the Tilley manor, she had been too overcome with the crushing weight of her own failure to properly re-equip herself anew; it was not until after she had properly made up with Master Raike that she had gone to the castle city and acquired a new bow. In her mind it had always been a temporary partner, as it was not made of the holy wood yew but instead birch. She practiced every day she was at rest at the castle, and always remembered gloves when visiting any of the nobility after the first time she had forgotten to do so, causing her hands to be remarked upon in detrimental tones for the rest of the visit. As her mother had never turned to her as a target for her wit, Louise had never formed a defense for them and could only endure what flew her way without complaint. And, having thought so little about her replacement bow, it had been left behind in her rooms in Reglay--oh, if she had only remembered before the morning of the _Festival d'Armements_! What was she going to do now?

She had so wanted to shoot beside her aunt, her idol in all things pertaining to archery. And now...

With her feet as heavy as iron, she trudged out of her room and towards the staircase, where everyone was to wait until preparations were complete. There she found a curious sight: Joshua was talking animatedly with Celia, whose head was turned just so that Louise could not discern her dear friend's expression. Her stiff stance was enough to educate Louise on her tension--it seemed Celia was uncomfortable in the presence of Louise's cousin. Unwilling to break up their one-sided conversation but concerned for her friend, Louise fairly flew down the rest of the stairs, barely noticing the addition of her aunt, uncle, and father--as usual, it seemed her mother would be the last to finish.

"Cousin," Louise greeted as soon as opportunity presented itself, noticing how Celia lifted her head, an obvious look of gratitude on her pretty features. Joshua inclined his head slightly, barely looking in Louise's direction before turning back to Celia, but all three were interrupted by Aunt Charlotte's gasp.

"Girl, where is your bow?"

Louise's back stiffened just as straight as it would during those years her mother had inflicted posture training, aiming swats on her lower spine with those Aquleia periodicals her mother so liked; no actual pain was ever received, but what a surprise it always was! Her aunt's sharp tone was very nearly as effective as Aquleia's biweekly papers, though Louise could not readily agree that its effect on her heart was welcomed. What was worse was that her aunt's shout had drawn all the attention in the room and sent it flying towards Louise, who could only note in dismay how her aunt, uncle and her cousin were fully equipped with their respective bows and quivers, making her feel quite inadequate with only her quiver slung across her hip--it had been her intention to find an unused bow somehow (how, she had never quite developed) and compete with that, no worse than using the replacement bow sitting unstrung in her cabinet at Reglay Castle. Oh, how was it that she could see it now in her mind's eye!

"Mn, I, um..."

"Did you leave it behind in Reglay?" her mother's voice rang out from behind her. Louise nodded, a little concerned by the small wrinkle between her father's eyes, his lips one straight line of obvious repression. Her aunt was not much better, frowning in confusion.

"Reglay? What were you doing in a place like that?"

"I, I...my fiancé..." But Louise could go no further, not if she wished to avoid her aunt's ire.

"Fiancé?" A smile burst forth from her aunt like the sun between parting clouds as the older woman clapped her hands in delight. "That's right, you're getting married! And you feel so comfortable with him that you left your bow with him? You know what they say, where you leave your weapons is home--"

"Would you leave my daughter alone? She doesn't need to be embarrassed by you," her mother interrupted, placing a hand on Louise's shoulder. That hand seemed the physical manifestation of all the attention brought down upon her, and it was very difficult for Louise to resist shrugging it off and, perhaps, hiding herself away, especially when her aunt's eyes narrowed.

"Do you still manage your daughter's every movement, Cathy? I would've hoped you had grown out of that by now, but I suppose a noble like you has to take control over your...demesne, hmm?" Before anyone could speak, Aunt Charlotte turned around, gesturing towards Isaac, who Louise was embarrassed to find that she hadn't noticed him when she came down the stairs. "Isaac, give me your bow. Louise will be using it."

Louise stepped forward. "Oh, no, I couldn't--"

"You will." Having collected the bow from her youngest son, Aunt Charlotte handed it to Louise without even a moment's hesitance. "I want to see how well you shoot. After all, didn't your interest spring from me? I want to see what I inspired in you, my dear niece."

"Oh..." Louise put a hand on the end of the bow, cool iron, the likes of which she had never wielded before. She glanced at her young cousin. "Is it really all right?" she asked, as much to him as to herself.

Isaac nodded. "Y-yeah. I'm not too good, anyway. I'd like to see your skill."

Perhaps some small vanity allowed her to act, taking the bow fully from her aunt's hands. It was heavier than the yew wood bow she had made herself and used for years, and though she had concerns over its flexibility and if she could handle a bow that would require more weight in her arms than she had ever used before, she wanted so dearly to prove to her aunt that she had learned her lessons well.

Their party took to the path up to the location of the festival in relative silence. Her father seemed contemplative, her mother snappish, and Joshua distracted, but she delighted in conversation with her aunt and Isaac with interspersed commentary from her uncle, and the day was fun.

It was the first time she had truly felt as if she had returned home, rather than merely inhabiting a space.

6.

"Lady Louise? What is this?"

Louise nearly fainted at the sight of Lord Pent's letters in Celia's hands. "...Where did you get those?" she asked, although she already knew the dreaded answer. How could she have forgotten to remove them after she had awoken!

"When I was turning down your bed, I found these underneath your pillow." Celia's expression was open, cheerful. "How cute. Is it a love charm?"

"...You know?" Louise pursed her lips when she realized the answer. "Did Madame Amy tell you about it?"

Celia looked mildly surprised at the thought. "We don't have much occasion to talk. It was actually Lisette who told me about it. Did you know your mother used to do the same thing with your father's letters?"

_Mother too? Of course she too was once a girl, but I can hardly imagine my own mother doing such a thing..._ To be completely honest, the thought made her happy. Her mother, flush with the charms of girlhood and first, enduring love...was she then like her mother? That boded well for her own future, didn't it? She smiled at this idea, a shy, warm happiness taking root inside her heart. "May I have my letters back, Celia?"

"I wouldn't keep them from you," Celia chided with a grin. "After all, you tell me every word in them anyway!"

Biting her lip, Louise took the letters and clutched them to her chest. "Not _every_ word."

Gasping, Celia quickly recovered and leaned her head forward as she whispered, "Exactly what are you hiding from me, Lady Louise? Under Lord Pent's reserve, could it be...?"

"Ah! What are you saying!" Louise looked away, shaking her head with such ferocity that she knew she had well earned a headache later for her trouble. "Aren't you planning to become a sister of the Church?"

Celia giggled. "True, but before that we are sisters of the same heart."

"Mm." A sudden slyness crept up like ivy, and Louise glanced at Celia. "Or is it that your own heart has opened to love?"

The look Celia gave her promised pain in her immediate future, to which Louise could only laugh--

"You two sound like the giddiest little girls I've ever heard!"

--before choking at the sound of her aunt's voice. She whirled around to where her aunt stood, her hair pinned up from archery practice. "Aunt Charlotte!" she could only exclaim.

Her aunt nodded at the letters she still held to her chest, a smirk positively lighting up her aunt's face as the older woman said, "_Billet-doux_ from your paramour?"

"They are n-not _love letters_!" Well and truly embarrassed now, Louise looked down. "We correspond while he's away."

"Where is he now?"

"At the Western Isles. He's a captain with the Etrurian forces there."

Aunt Charlotte frowned. "I can't believe that my brother would allow you to marry a military man, considering the trouble he got into with your mother's father."

"Oh, but Lord Pent is only temporarily with the army..." Louise trailed off when she noticed her aunt's face darken terribly, as sudden and fierce as a summer squall. Then she realized how carelessly she had referred to Lord Pent, and suddenly she felt the absence of heat as it drained from her face in reaction to her terrible error.

"A noble of Reglay? Bad enough to be the former, but why so far from Alloway? What is his worth that you would be sent so far from your family?" Aunt Charlotte snapped out the questions, one after the other, so quickly that Louise was left at a loss at how to respond.

"Ah..." Celia spoke up, her fine features suffused with that moderating influence that always helped to calm Louise down whenever she was feeling low. "Lord Pent is Count Reglay, Madame Charlotte. He's quite kind to Lady Louise and, I think, adores her quite a bit more than anyone can say..."

"Some old pervert?"

Louise cringed. "He's seventeen."

Her aunt affixed such a interrogative stare at Louise that she felt almost as if she were being seen from the inside out; all her thoughts, hopes, and feelings were laid bare and, judging by the harsh glare on her aunt's face, were found wanting. "Did that mother of yours put you up to this?"

"...It's what I wanted. I want to be with Lord Pent," Louise softly answered, knowing that her words were ineffectual at this stage. Her aunt shook her head.

"But she did bring him to your attention, didn't she? She drew you to him."

It was true that her mother had brought the news of Lord Pent's bridal selection to her, though she had been chosen by invitation before her mother had even said a word. It was furthermore also true that her mother had been blessed with prior knowledge of Lord Pent, that she could provide information that did convince Louise to attend, and yet...and yet! Had it not been her own decision? Had she not taken responsibility for that act, and showed him the wishes of her heart? Her actions were not second to her mother's words, truly...

In the moment she had been frozen by her thoughts, her aunt had removed herself. Louise could only see her aunt's back, straight and solid, as if an ever-present denial of any and all the words she could have spoken at that moment.

-0-

There was a tense peace vibrating inside the Émile home for a week, a peace as finely-tuned as the violin Louise had once attempted to practice without skill, without hope for anything better than her current status. She could tell by the stiff movements of her family that everyone was affected, but none, she thought, more than she, the one who had revealed that Lord Pent was a noble to a person who despised them. The persistent rumor that her aunt had once been betrothed to Uncle Aramis seemed impossible; she could not imagine that her father would continue to be such good friends with him if he had harmed her father's sister in such a way...unless Aunt Charlotte had been the one to break the engagement. As far as Louise knew, she had eloped with Uncle Gregory before leaving Etruria, returning once when Louise was but a child before leaving again, only to return now. Perhaps it was only through their travels when her aunt's anger towards nobles bloomed into the black flower it was today, or it could have been borne from her mother's existence.

There were too many reasons to hate. Louise was saddened to think that there could be any reason at all.

It was nearing the fourth week of her stay, and her anxiety was reaching a fever pitch--she felt she needed to return (to return?) to Reglay, but at the same time she did not feel comfortable in leaving her home while her relatives stayed in Alloway. This left her feeling as though she had entered some infernal limbo, hovering uncomfortably between two worlds and unsure how to break away, or in which direction she should go. She could only wait, and wait she did, until--

"I've had it!"

The sound of her aunt's hands hitting the dining table was a shock, but not nearly so terrible of one as the utter disgust and hatred lining Aunt Charlotte's face. "Gérald, I'm sick of that woman ruling over this house like a queen!"

Her mother rolled her eyes at this. "If you had a problem with that, you should have brought it up before we married, not right now during dinner."

"Brother, I've been keeping it inside ever since I learned about it, but it's too much!" Aunt Charlotte said in rapid Etruscan, though not so rapid that Louise could not understand it. "Sending your only child off to marry a highborn noble? What were you thinking? That's no different from sacrificing your daughter for a blessing like in those heathen legends, and you can't possibly need the money."

"I don't care for the boy, but Charlotte, please don't worry about it," her father said, his expression strained.

"I have to worry! Because it's that woman's fault, isn't it? She's the one who began everything, wasn't she? Can't you see what she's thinking? She's a pariah of the nobility because she married you, but if she managed to get her daughter married to someone as high up in the chain as a count, she could get her position back!"

"Charlotte..."

"Don't you see, Gérald? Can't you see it?" Aunt Charlotte's words were as passionate and heartfelt as a prayer; to hear such vile words voiced in such a way struck Louise through the heart. "She's using her own daughter! Your daughter, Gérald!"

As if struck by a heavy blow, Louise flinched, lowering her head as she grit her teeth; underneath the table, her hands were tightly clenched. She did not lift her head, not even when she heard her mother say, "What are you saying? What a coward you are, Charlotte. You'll say horrendous things about me to my husband for my own daughter to overhear, but you can't possibly say them to me, could you?"

She did not lift her head even as she heard her aunt snarled back, "You want to hear it, Cathy? What I think about someone like you, someone who whores out their own daughter for the sake of status?"

"What...did you just say?"

As the shouting grew louder, Louise could only shut her eyes as tight as she could get them, hoping against hope that absolute darkness could block out the sound of her family collapsing. She could hear:

"Mom, please stop! Dad, do something!"

"It's been a long time coming. I'd stay out of it if I were you."

"But--!"

She could hear:

"Is this out of jealousy? No, you can tell me. The daughter you've always wanted but could never have...is that why you had to have any influence you could dig into her? I've felt sorry enough to let you have that little victory, but you really are quite pathetic."

"That's laughable, coming from a woman who couldn't even stand to bear more than one child. Do you think my brother was satisfied with such a small family?"

"That's it. I want you out of my house _now_."

"I won't leave! This was my house long before you ever came sniffing around here, and I'm going to do what my brother should have done and protect that girl from your plans! Imagine, sending that sweet child off to marry some cad of a nobleman--you know how they play around on their little tours!"

_Lord Pent_, Louise thought, and something painful twisted itself inside her chest. She heard, and she did not--had never wanted to hear any of this. There was no effort in pushing her chair back, even less to stand, and suddenly there was silence.

But it was too late for her to be mollified by silence. Far, far too late.

"I'm excusing myself. Please don't come after me, because I'm afraid I can't bear it right now." Tears leaked through her closed eyes, but she made no move to wipe them away as she walked away from the table--but the feeling pounding inside her head told her that she had not spoken her mind to the extent it needed to have its thoughts voiced. She paused, but she did not turn around, she could not turn around, and to go even further she could never let her eyelids lift and see these people...her family. "Aren't we a family? Families are supposed to love each other, so why...please, I can't--"

It was too much now, far beyond the scope of her powers. Without further ado, she left the dining room with silence trailing behind her like ribbons worn during Saint Elimine's birthday festival. If even there had been a single word, whether it be the start to apologies or further recriminations, Louise would not have stopped. Her habit of eavesdropping was one that slew her over and over again, and perhaps would again in the future, but she could not do it here.

She was beyond this moment. The wall had fallen, and she was ready to leave--to return.

7.

Intent on keeping her word, Louise took breakfast in her room the next day. She had a whole sleepless night to think about her situation, and not a few times did she rise from her bed to begin a draft of a letter to send to Master Raike informing him of her arrival. What stayed her hand every time was the undernourished hope in her heart that perhaps yesterday had been the worst of it, that, like a storm, there would be the promise of sunny days ahead.

But her fifteen years had taught her this much: the storm would always return. It was inevitable.

It was this last thought that eventually forced her out of her room; she had to inform her parents that she would be leaving within the week, if not a couple of days, because if anything was going to be done it should be done by her. This is what she told herself, and it carried her all the way down the stairs and to her aunt. This surprised Louise so greatly that she found herself without even a word of greeting as her aunt approached her.

"Good day, Louise," her aunt said, her tone as light as air. "I see you're looking much better today."

Discomfort was not a new thing to Louise, as she had played the target to the noblewomen of Reglay too long to forget that particular feeling, but she was not sure she had ever felt it as acutely as she did now. Her aunt was determined to pretend yesterday had never happened---should she? Could she?

She had been quiet too long, she knew, when her aunt began to frown. "What, you're not still thinking about dinner yesterday?"

"I..." In a single, fatal instant, Louise gave into her heart's desire. "I would like an apology."

"An apology? I meant every word I said to that mother of yours."

Shaking her head, Louise stated, "...I'm not asking for my mother's sake. My mother can more than fend for herself, and she would not like it if I entered her battles. I would like an apology for the awful insinuation you made about Lord Pent."

"What?" Her aunt smiled as she reached out to stroke Louise's loose, untidy hair. "Oh Louise, you have no reason to stay with a man like that. Nobles aren't like you and me. Whatever they want, they take. It's the same in Lycia. If you part ways with him now, while he's otherwise preoccupied, perhaps you can get away unscathed. Come with me and I'll keep you safe from your mother's anger. It would be wonderful for you to travel. I imagine you would take to it so well you'll wonder why you've bothered with the life you live now."

"...No, Auntie. Because you know nothing about him...you're describing some other man entirely. I have a responsibility to him and I...I like my life." She looked up into her aunt's face and wondered why the other woman appeared so...surprised. "Please, just apologize."

"All right," her aunt said mildly. "I apologize. Is that good enough for you?"

Louise allowed a small smile to linger on her lips. "So long as you truly mean it, I'm satisfied."

Then, a most singular sensation: Pain, exploding from the left side of her face. She cried out and covered the offended cheek with her hand, realizing with only a dim, faraway part of her mind that her aunt had just struck her across the face, struck her for no reason that her mind could discover in this instant, or the next, or the next.

"So long as I truly mean it, you're satisfied...?" Lowering her arm to her side, her aunt's sharp glare was every bit as deadly as the tip of an arrow. "In the end, you're no different from that woman, are you? Doubting, looking down, while you remain high above it all...never mind my offer. I thought of you as my own daughter, all these years, and yet you turned out like--"

"That would be because I am not your daughter," Louise murmured, rubbing the sore, throbbing ache on her face in slow, firm circles. "I am my mother's." With those words, she left the area, darting through doorway after doorway while seeking a place where she could stop and be let alone while she tried, perhaps vainly, to understand what had just happened.

As she left the house through the door into the modest kitchen gardens Ellie so loved to cultivate, she saw none other than her father approaching the house from the direction of the stables. He was tugging on his cuffs when he seemed to notice her; by the time she thought to flee he was already heading towards her with a cautious demeanor that she found quite sad. "Louise," he called when he came near, but then his eyes grew wide and he hurried the rest of the way to her, reaching with gentle fingers to touch the injured side of her face. "Who did this?"

"Father, I--" But she could not speak further, not when he was already looking past her, into the house proper.

"That sister of mine! For the last time..." Her father began to storm into the house and would surely have made it to his objective were not Louise reacting on instinct alone, grasping her father's arm with both of hers and hugging the limb as if she would use all the strength in her small body to bring him down if need be.

"Father, stop!"

"Louise?"

"Don't worry, it's fine. I'm going back--"

"This is your home! I won't have you chased away from it by my very own sister!"

She clutched her father's arm even more tightly when he gave the barest hint of not tolerating her hold on him any longer. "It's all right!" she cried out. "I don't want any more fighting!"

The moment her father relaxed was her victory. "You stubborn girl," he said, not with just a bit of exasperation, not without some affection. "That mark on your face, the redness of it...she didn't hit you in the same way a child would need a swat. She wanted you to hurt."

"It doesn't hurt," Louise said, and that was something of the truth; it only throbbed with some force, and she pressed the offended side of her face against her father's upper arm. The wool of his shirt was comfortable, enough to ease her into a sense of security. Only when her father's voice broke through the haze of relaxation surrounding her did she stir.

"Why did she?"

"She said that I was exactly like Mother."

"You are like her." And then, in softly spoken Etruscan, "That's what worries me."

Louise lifted her head slightly from his arm, where her vantage position offered her a close look at her father's beard, neatly trimmed as usual. It made her wonder when was the last time she had embraced her father and stayed so close to him. "Why is that?" she responded, switching her language just as easily. For this question she earned herself a pat on the head, reminding her of when she was a child and craved her parents' attention--this, despite the fact that she had never lacked it.

"Despite what your aunt thinks, I've never had reason to worry over your mother's feelings for me. She loves without reserve, without thought for the consequences. To her, all that matters is that she earns her own happiness, no matter what she had to lose to gain it." He sighed, the heaviness of which seemed to stir within her own heart a feeling of gentle melancholy. "It scares me that you're the same way."

She pulled away from her father, facing him as she stood beside him. "But I'm a little like you too, don't you think? You loved Mother so strongly that you even faced Grandfather in order to keep her by your side. I really admire that you stood up to him, despite the fact that no one can win against the Great General of Etruria when it comes to sheer strength. He may have hurt you, but your love was stronger than his anger." Fidgeting, she looked away as she smiled. "It makes me wonder what it feels like to love so...fully."

Her father coughed into his hand. "Before, you said that you didn't need to love that boy, you only needed to believe in him. How is it that you can believe in him? You hadn't seen him more than a handful of times before he left."

"I listened to him. I wanted to understand him, and..." Louise laughed. "Of course I still haven't learned very much about him, but I want to. All I really know is how he makes me feel, and, um...even though we can only communicate through letters, every time I receive a new reply, my heart lightens. I may not be able to see him, but he answers every question I ask him with such honesty and kindness that I know he does not view me as an annoyance. He truthfully wants to reach out to me...I feel that he trusts me."

"And you trust him." Her father's voice was very odd, but Louise could only agree.

"Yes."

"Even if all that's between you are letters."

Gently, she placed her hand against her chest. "There are these feelings, too, but if it can only be letters then I will make a bridge with them from here to the Western Isles so that we can reach each other."

"All right."

"Father?"

"Your mother has been needling me, but I wasn't going to budge until I heard from you first. I'll...I'll accept it. Whatever it is that the two of you share, I'll not stand in your way." There was a soft wordless exclamation from her father when she embraced him, but she found that he was soon patting her on the back. "Just promise that you'll visit more often. Your mother gets less bearable without you to distract her."

Louise laughed, remembering a rather similar remark launched by her mother. "Yes, Father."

8.

"We're almost there, Lady Louise," Celia murmured, but of course Louise had long since found that the book she had borrowed from her mother was inadequate compared to the sight of the passing road; with her keen archer's eyes, she had long ago sighted Reglay Castle, second in grandeur to only the palace at Aquleia. Their carriage was now traveling through the city proper towards the castle's front gates, and Louise could not help the widening of her smile when they were safely on the other side of the castle walls. Her departure from the carriage was a little less than ladylike, but she could not help herself--she was in Reglay! First, she would have to send off her letter to Lord Pent, more of a periodical in size rather than a simple exercise in the epistolary arts, and then she would see herself down in the kitchens, and after that--

"Milady."

"Madame Amy!" Louise would never have been so bold to embrace her guardian at any other time, but perhaps she could be excused in her obvious exuberance? It was a small wonder that she was not thrown aside, but the expression on Madame Amy's face was clearly set in bemusement. "Oh, I'm so happy to see you again!"

"Well, I'm honored. Was everything well at your home?"

Louise looked away, her hands clenched behind her back. "Let's talk more about that later."

"That would be for the best, actually." Madame Amy gestured towards the massive front doors of the castle. "I'm to escort you to my husband's office."

"Has something happened?" Louise wondered aloud. She would have allowed herself to be nervous, but with Celia beside her and Madame Amy in front of her it felt as if that would simply not do.

"My husband's picked up a rumor that one of the claimants plans to appeal to the king directly fairly soon, and he'd like to discuss the possible options in averting this move for as long as possible." The lovely older woman had a smile to match her steel-gray eyes; it bespoke of ice and wind and a blade that could cut like both, but there was no hostility in them towards Louise. Rather, it seemed to be faintly challenging, something that was proven in her next words. "Are you ready?"

Louise nodded, her heart pounding with as much anticipation as there was anxiety. "I am. Shall we go?"

-end-

And now, for something a little different. I know many of you were expecting a story about Louise and her attempts at forging alliances with the Reglay County noblewomen, but I had decided against it from early on; it would just be a series of unpleasant encounters with no victory from Louise's side, and that doesn't sound like either a pleasant writing or reading experience to me. The hints about just how stressful it is for her in this story is just the very tip of the iceberg. Better to tie up some loose ends, all things considering...

This is one of the longest single-part stories in the entire series; there will be a Pent story that aims to be even longer, but after that the chapter lengths will be much more sane. I'm heading into the second half of my semester with extremely good grades that I don't want to lose, so if I have to I will give myself a hiatus from this fic. That being said, the next story comes out on 4/19. Thank you for reading!


	20. Broken Stem

Bouquet

(C) Intelligent Systems and Nintendo

-0-

Broken Stem: A Small Collection of Themes From Their Letters, Placed In Conversational Format

1. Iceland Moss  
(_health_)

I do hope you are taking care of your health. Would it sound overly weak to say that I do worry about you so? I make it a point every day to pray to Saint Elimine to watch over you. If something were to happen to you, I do not know what I would do. Being that I am so far away from you, it seems I can do nothing at all. When I think about that, I become deeply troubled.

-x-

I would think that the very act of prayer would be something you are doing for me. Also, I must admit that I find myself expectant for your letters; when the day they are to arrive draws near, I become distracted. Your news and little stories make me grow more fond for Reglay than I have ever felt before. As for my health, you needn't be concerned, as I am not often in battle enough for my life to be threatened in any way.

-x-

It may be as you say, but I am not only worried about your incurring an injury. I have been reading on the details of the Western Isles, and it seems that it is a cold place with very little sunlight at certain times of the year. If you catch a chill, you might become terribly sick, and I doubt that all the remedies Etruria is blessed with exist where you are. So please, if only for my sake, try to take care of yourself.

-x-

As you command, Louise. From now on, I will put my health in your hands.

-x-

Lord Pent, I would appreciate it if you would not take the issue of your health so lightly. I really do worry.

-x

I realize that, and I do apologize if my tone seemed amused or otherwise 'light.' I have to admit that I sometimes get caught up in my studies and forget to take care of myself. Of course it is a bit different here, as our facilities are, as you guessed, not quite as modern as what we have at home. Rest assured that I am being cautious, and will not give you any cause for alarm in regards to my health.

-x-

Thank you for being so considerate of my feelings, Lord Pent. I feel a little better now.

2. Acanthus  
(_fine arts_)

I went to see a performance of _La dame aux Camélias_ in the castle city recently with the daughters of Baron Collué. It was a striking opera. You would not believe this, but the ending made me cry. It is such a sad thing to see love come to such an end.

-x-

I'm vaguely familiar with the title, but I cannot say I have ever seen it before. In Aquleia there were very strict laws about the morality of the performances shown at the theatres, although many of my classmates liked to go to the underground ones even knowing of the fines that would be levied were they discovered.

-x-

That is quite sad, I think. It seems in the castle city of Reglay there are many different types of plays and operas. My mother wrote to me regarding which ones she thought were ones I would enjoy, and I have been inviting some nobles of the city to attend with me. It may be funny to you, but I would like to become a woman of culture, like my mother, though I find the sort of literature my mother reads to be quite boring. Watching people perform stories, however, is very exciting.

-x-

If that is your dream, by all means pursue it. I cannot say I have ever worried about such a thing, but your mother was one of the most prominent _literati_ of her day, was she not? I suppose having that sort of legacy can be intimidating.

-x-

Reading your last letter, it seems that you are unaware of your mother's own legacy. If it were not for her, I would not be enjoying the variety of shows available in Reglay. I feel greatly indebted to your mother.

-x-

I do hope you continue to attend whatever shows interest you. Perhaps when I return we can enjoy a performance or two. My favorite musical is a bit of a morality play, but it shows often in Aquleia. It has quite a bit of bombastic verve, which may not be to your taste, but I could identify with the main character, a doctor who inadvertently discovers an evil side to himself induced by a potion he created. Well, I am not saying I identify with that, but rather his desire for knowledge.

-x-

I would love to see your favorite show with you. It sounds quite interesting!

3. Cistus, part one  
(_popular favor--favorite thing_)

Lord Pent, what do you like to eat? I would like to make your favorite foods for you when you return to Reglay.

-x-

To be completely honest, I have no particular likes or dislikes when it comes to food.

-x-

How can that be? Everyone has something they are particular about when it comes to food. You may not realize this, but that is vital to discovering a person's true self.

-x-

I have never heard of such a thing before. When I was at school, I was often complimented for not being overly fussy. As long as it tastes fine and has adequate nutrition, what reason could there be for complaint?

-x-

Nutrition is more than feeding your body. Certainly you can eat to quell hunger, but is that true satisfaction? Good food is such that feeds not only the body, but the soul. It refreshes you and gives you vital energy. Morning and afternoon tea is not necessary as there is always breakfast and lunch to depend on, but it brings us good cheer to have it, particularly with friends. Therefore, you are enriched not only by the tasty morsels, but also the warmth of friendship.

-x-

That is quite an interesting way to see it. Then, what are your favorite foods?

-x-

I most like rich foods, as Etruscan cooking is so full of them. I have been trying Reglay cuisine as of late and find that, while the desserts are not quite as good, there are some interesting techniques with braising I have not encountered before. Someday I would like to hunt for a boar here and see what the cooks can do with that sort of meat, as the ovens at my home don't allow for a sizable quarter of meat like one would find in an adult boar.

-x-

...

-x-

Lord Pent, I was quite touched by the meal you asked to have prepared. Master Raike told me how you requested he set up everything for me, from the hunt to watching the cooks to the meal itself. But, why did you go so far? It is not even my birthday yet.

-x-

Louise, you may have realized this, but I cannot offer you very much while I am away. When you related your wish, I realized that this was something I could do for you. I was being entirely truthful that I have not encountered a dish that I found to be better or worse than all the other meals before it, but after learning of your definition of nutrition I would like to offer myself as someone entirely willing to try your dishes. Perhaps the reason why I have never had strong feelings about food is because I have never been taught to do so.

-x-

Even more than the experience you allowed me to have, your last letter truly affected me. I will do my best to show you the true happiness of food, so please look forward to that.

4. Rose Acacia  
(_friendship_)

Louise, I have been thinking about this for some time now, but are you making friends among the Reglay nobility?

-x-

No, I am not. I'm sorry I haven't been successful yet.

-x-

It's their loss. Would I be wrong if I asked if they have been cruel to you?

-x-

Lord Pent, I'm fine. Please do not worry about me so.

-x-

You expend all this effort in worrying about me, yet you will not let me do the same? I never thought you would be so unfair.

-x-

If that is supposed to be a joke, it is a rather poor one.

-x-

I see I've been misunderstood, so allow me to be more clear. As far as I can tell, friends worry about each other. It is through their mutual concern for each other's welfare that their bonds grow stronger. I would say that by denying me the opportunity to worry about you, you are closing yourself off from me. That is your right, but it sounds very different from the Louise I know.

-x-

Lord Pent, please forgive me. I did not consider it that way. To worry also causes pain, and I would do anything to keep you from it. Since we are already so far apart, to commit such an act is far more cruel than anything that has ever happened to me.

-x-

I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. I only wanted to let you know how I felt.

-x-

That makes me happy to hear, that you want me to know your true feelings. I would like to keep hearing them, even if it is a complaint about me.

-x-

I see, though I don't expect to have many complaints about you.

5. Cistus, part two  
(_popular favor--favorite thing_)

Lord Pent, may I also ask what your favorite color is? Please try to be more discerning than to simply answer that you neither like nor dislike any color over the others.

-x-

That is a question I can answer readily. My favorite color is blue.

-x-

Thank you for your answer! Now, which shade do you like? I thought you might like dark blues the best, but would that be indigo, or perhaps royal blue?

-x-

Your last letter gave me a vague sense of _déjà vu_. In all honesty, I'm not sure what the difference is. May I ask why this is important to you? I might be able to assist you further if I knew why this is so necessary.

-x-

There is no particular reason, Lord Pent. I just would like to learn more about you.

-x-

I see. Well, please continue to feel free to ask me whatever you like and I will answer to the best of my ability.

6. Cherry Tree  
(_good education_)

I was discussing the topic of education with a few of the soldiers and I realized that Etruria has quite a few flaws in its system. For instance, the rich are free to pursue any level of education they wish, but it is nearly impossible for the normal villager to attain more than a cursory knowledge of reading and writing. You're of a good family, and your mother seems quite interested in higher levels of education, so I thought perhaps you were schooled from the time you were of age to do so, like myself.

-x-

Do a lot of noblewomen attend school? I had a governess for a time, and my mother's comments at that time made me believe that most young girls with some wealth are taught privately.

-x-

At my magic academy, my particular class was roughly split in half between males and females. However, when I attended my first school in Aquleia, it was an all-boys academy.

-x-

Which did you prefer, Lord Pent?

-x-

I would say _Pére Magie_ without a doubt. Everyone was devoted to the study of magic, and I think that makes all the difference. Perhaps education should be focused on the trade one wishes to enter, instead of disparate subjects. However, at the lower levels it may be necessary to instill the fundamentals, but which subjects are 'fundamental'? I would like to do more research on this idea, but unfortunately the Western Isles is fairly light on this sort of reading material.

-x-

Concerning your idea, I've grown interested in it as well. There is no real education system in Alloway, but I think I will send a letter to Uncle Aramis and discuss the idea further with him. Nella should also have something to say about this. I will start on my letters right away and inform you once they reply.

-x-

Thank you, Louise. I'll look forward to it.

7. Lint, part one  
(_obligations_)

I am a little worried about what I am finding in Raike's reports. It seems you are attending to the Reglay noblewomen four or five times a week. Perhaps you are overexerting yourself.

-x-

I appreciate your concern, but I am aware of my limits. Please do not worry overmuch about me. This is necessary, after all.

-x-

I would like to hear your reasoning on what is so necessary about pandering to them. You are a guest in my home, and I cannot see myself suggesting to any guest that they should tire themselves out with those people.

-x-

For now, it is necessary because I want you to keep your title as Count Reglay. Furthermore, if everything goes well, I will have to converse with them on a regular basis as Countess Reglay. It is best to understand them now so that I will be able to adapt to them later. It is no different from learning how to hunt, actually. Hunters must adapt to the prey they seek if they wish to catch any, whether they are rabbits or pheasants or boars.

-x-

What an interesting metaphor. I've underestimated you, haven't I?

8. Sorrel  
(_paternal affection_)

Lord Pent, there is something I wish for you to know that I did not tell you in my last letter. While I was in Alloway, my father decided that he would accept us being together. I realize it is an awkward thing to discuss the nature of our relationship considering our distance, but I thought you would like to know.

-x-

I'm not sure what exactly would be awkward to speak about regarding our engagement, but I am happy to hear about his change in attitude. From the beginning I have understood his reluctance because the element that drew us together is perhaps a little odd. As I understood it, his main problem was with me and my deficiencies of character.

-x-

Regarding what you wrote in your last letter, you mentioned that you understood what he disliked about you. May I ask how you became aware of this? Was it the day you came to my house, when afterward you attempted to sever our marriage promise?

-x-

You are correct in your assumption; it was on that day. You must understand that when I had accepted the punishment for my father's crime, there was still the question of what I was going to do regarding our engagement. On one hand, I was not going to force you to marry me with such a scandal hanging above my head, but if you will allow me to admit this, I had a strong dislike for simply canceling it, as I thought it was not impossible to salvage some sort of future with you. This is why I handed the decision over to you, as it was the only honorable thing I could think of doing.

I initially wanted to speak with your father in order to let him know the truth behind my punishment. I was aware that your mother had probably learned of the rumors surrounding it, and I did not want to leave your family mired in confusion. I recall that he said nothing as I spoke, his expression unchanging the entire time. I must admit that I am not the best at reading a person's face, so I had no idea of what he thought. I decided to find out by telling him what I intended to do regarding our engagement, and in returned he nodded and said that he agreed this would be best, that he was pleased to hear I was reasonable enough to leave the decision to you. I then asked him if he hoped that we separated or not, and I still remember his response.

He said: I do hope it. Not because I want her to be in pain, but rather because I find you to be unreliable and therefore unworthy of her. A man who has no idea of his responsibilities and how best to achieve his goals is not a dependable man. My daughter is sweet-hearted and will work tirelessly for those she loves, even if that person is unable to pull their own weight. For such an unreliable man such as yourself to have any power over my daughter's heart quite frankly frightens me.

To hear both his assessment of myself as well as you made me think that it would be better to completely separate from you, but I have to say I was too weak against your earnest words. Even so, I think back to your father's words to me that day and I admire his honesty. That he knows you so well is a testament to his love for you.

-x-

Thank you, Lord Pent. However, you needn't defend my father. I do not feel that someone who accepts a punishment suited only for his own father and his former steward is at all unreliable. You are doing something that not many people could willingly do, and I admire you all the more for it. As long as you stay true to yourself, please allow me to do whatever I can for you. My effect overall may be inconsequential, but when I think about you in the Isles, I can't help but want to work harder.

-x-

This may be overly self-congratulatory, but reading your words makes me feel that, if someone can believe in me that much, I must be doing something right. Please continue to uphold your faith in me. I will do what I can to prove that it is not unwarranted.

9. Amaryllis  
(_splendid beauty_)

Lately, everyone has taken to asking me about you. Ever since one of the soldiers heard about your existence from one of the pegasus knights, I've been continually bothered by their questions. It seems I've lost any prestige the title of 'captain' had afforded me.

-x-

You wrote something very strange in your last letter that I must inquire about now. Why do any of the pegasus knights know about me?

-x-

I am friends with the Etrurian army liaison in their squad. She is quite kind, but she seems to delight in causing in me trouble.

-x-

I am unsure if I was clear enough in my last letter. Why do all the other pegasus knights know?

-x-

They had a bet on the status of my 'love life', as it was put to me. And now that everyone knows, I get the most tiring questions about you, especially in regards to your appearance. Of course, it allows me to brag about you, which is quite nice.

-x-

Lord Pent, you are teasing me, aren't you? To read such a thing is a little embarrassing.

-x-

I understand. I won't write about it any longer.

-x-

You may say that, but don't you think it's too late if I already know about it?

10. Cistus, part three  
(_popular favor--favorite thing_)

Louise, I must say that I was quite surprised by your gift. It was very thoughtful of you. I now understand why you asked me for my favorite color, and I especially like that you used silver thread for the embroidery. Gold, I think, would be too obtrusive at this time. I'll make sure to take good care of it.

-x-

It's quite a pleasure to be so praised by you. I only have one request, that every time you wear it please remember me. I made it from the inspiration of every wonderful feeling you've inspired within me, so I hope it keeps you warm through the winter.

11. Lint, part two  
(_obligation_)

Raike has informed me that there is now a case to divest me of my title in the King's Courts. In light of that, perhaps it would be best for you to return home. However unpleasant the Reglay nobles were before, now that many of them are supporting this claimant they will become incorrigible. I do not want you to suffer because you feel you have an obligation to help me. I greatly appreciate everything you have done, but now this is a matter only the castle clerks and Raike can solve now. Please, return to Alloway.

-0-

My dearest Lord Pent, when I received your last letter I was filled with the usual anticipation that comes only from the arrival of your letters. However, when I read it, my joy turned into grief. I thought you understood me well enough to know that this is not a matter of obligation. I will have to refuse your request. I hope you can understand.

Furthermore, I will have to admit that I am feeling injured. The promise I made to you that day still stands, although I have done a poor job of proving its worth. I fully intend to use my life to protect you. That includes that which is important to you. You may not realize this, but I know that Reglay is very important to you. It is so important that you would worry about it despite your own position, and you have worried about it for some time. Uncle Aramis told me so in his letter. He said you had approached him to understand the system we use in Alloway in order to give everybody their independence, because you were interested in doing something similar for Reglay. That, combined with your new interest in creating an educational system in Reglay that would benefit all people, not just the rich, has shown me that only you can be Count Reglay. There is no one else who will serve the people with the same kindness as you.

It is one of the many reasons I hold such a strong and enduring fondness for you, my dear lord.

If I may be so bold, I would like to know how you feel towards me. I would like to understand why you would possibly ask such a thing of me. I am aware that you may wish to protect me, but I will not accept a strange sort of protection as that. I did not accept it from Father, and I will not from you. If this is not something you feel comfortable with revealing to me just yet, I will completely understand. I just am led by a fatal sense of curiosity, but I can wait for you. I would wait forever for you.

Yours faithfully, Louise

-0-

"Lady Louise."

Louise raised her head from her complicated embroidery, unsure what to make of the unusually grave tone that had accompanied the sounds of her name. "Master Raike?" she responded softly, fully expecting to be drowned out by the sound of the rain outside her window. She hoped it would turn into a brilliant white snowfall if the temperature lowered just enough, though it would be troublesome for her trip home next week. Already she considered herself sixteen, but it certainly didn't feel as though she had reached the age of majority until her family was surrounding her as they celebrated it.

Master Raike was fidgeting when she focused her attention on him, a most curious sight that had her placing her embroidery onto her little tea table. "Lady Louise, I'm not sure how to say this, but..."

"What do you mean..." She gasped when a terrible image presented itself to her. "Lord Pent, he's not--!"

"I'm not sure what happened, but it seems something did. If it hadn't, this wouldn't have occurred." From behind his back he revealed a familiar-looking envelope to her, which she received with faintly shaking hands. When she looked at the front, the toxic mixture of shock, confusion, and a nearly palpable grief filled her throat and made her unable to voice just what exactly she felt as her eyes scanned the same inked stamp over and over again, as if discovering the secret behind it would cause the dreamscape surely entrapping her to fall apart. On her letter, that vital letter in which she confessed her feelings and bade Lord Pent to do the same, there were new words cruelly staining the pristine eggshell-white envelope:

RETURN TO SENDER

-end-

These read like supports, don't they? They were very fun and easy to write, although they are just small slices of their correspondence. I wanted to have a sort of easy, growing intimacy forming between the two. After all, as the story summary states, this is the bridge between Etruria and the Western Isles--as a bridge, it should be able to bear the weight of even...well, never mind that. Thank you for reading, and feel free to let me know what you think of my work so far. I hope you'll be looking forward to the next story, out on 5/3!

_La dame aux Camélias_: This was the name of a story written by Alexandre Dumas (author of _The Three Musketeers_ and _The Count of Monte Cristo_, among others) that eventually became the base for one of the most enduring operas--_La Traviata_. And, to round out that section, yes, Pent is referring to _Jekyll and Hyde_! One of the songs in the album I have of the musical is called _I Need to Know_, which just struck me as very thematically similar to Pent's B support with Hawkeye.

Cistus, part one: This entire 'conversation' is a reference to the Pent/Louise B support.


	21. The Uprooted Forest

Bouquet

(C) Intelligent Systems and Nintendo

Warning: This story is PG-13/T rated for violence and some language, but very mildly so.

-0-

The Uprooted Forest: Black Poplar, Plane Tree, Enchanter's Nightshade, Fig, Grandiflora Magnolia  
(_have courage, genius of magic, and you will live long and proud_)

"Hey, Captain! Where should I put this?"

"Captain, we're done over here!"

"Oi, you lucky bastard! Where'd you get that?"

In response to the last question, Pent touched the soft scarf now adorning his neck. A dark, rich blue with small silver embroidery for the initials of his name, the scarf had surprised him when it first arrived in late November, but he had not found an opportunity to wear it until now, as the first flakes of snow dotted the coast of Fibernia in early January. It was intended as a birthday gift, though his was not until February, and with Louise's birthday already past all he could do was wait for her next reply to wish her well. He tried not to think about the significance of the year; now that she was sixteen, she had entered the first bloom of legal womanhood.

In other words, once he returned home, no matter the situation, they could marry.

The thought warmed him almost as well as the scarf, good cheer running through him as he smiled at the man who had addressed him. "It's a present from my fiancée," he answered. It would have been enough, but he just had to add, "She made it for me. It was the first time she ever knitted for anyone." To this, the other man scowled and stormed away--ah, Pent knew he wasn't supposed to gloat, but he felt Louise deserved all the praise she could get, never mind that she wasn't here to hear it from him personally. For now, letters would have to do and they did well enough at that.

"Oh, hey Captain," Thomas called as he walked past with a few others, all of them looking cheerfully unoccupied with the construction efforts going on within the camp. Pent hadn't been very pleased when his commander had given him a week to organize and fully rearrange the tents in the midst of winter while his commander decided to go with the vice-commander to the nearby manor of an Etrurian lord, but that was par for course when it came to this place. With less than six months to go in his one year sentence, Pent figured he could survive that long.

Though he wondered if he should say anything about the group's lack of work, Pent only arched an eyebrow when Thomas bid his friends goodbye and headed in his direction. "Is there something I can do for you?" Pent asked.

"Has the mail come in yet?" Thomas asked eagerly. "Did you hear back about, y'know, that?"

Ever since Thomas had discovered Pent was a noble of some stature, though he made sure that his exact title was kept only to himself, he had been deluged with questions about what it was like to be a noble. Perhaps Pent had said more than was advisable, because the next thing he knew, he was writing to Raike to inquire as to which noble lineage held the hibiscus as part of their family insignia. His steward would certainly have more than his fair share of work considering the upcoming trial in the King's Courts, but Pent reasoned that the heraldry of Etrurian noble families was easily accessible, especially considering the amount of published works increasing with every year.

"Unfortunately, the mail seems to be delayed," Pent responded. "We were warned last week by our mainland liaison that the winter storms from Ilia have come down all the way into central Etruria."

Shoulders slumping, Thomas looked so dejected that Pent nearly regretted even telling the truth. "Damn. I was hoping that I could find out soon..."

"What will you do once you discover his identity?"

"I..." Thomas hesitated. "I don't know."

Pent wondered if Thomas really didn't know, but he decided not to voice his concerns; the young man was easily excitable but far too kind to conceive of revenge, especially one that could harm a noble in the military. For his own peace of mind he was seeking this information, and that certainly could be forgiven. Deciding to leave well enough alone, Pent changed the subject. "Did you already finish what was assigned to you?"

Thomas took a step back, his smile too wide to be honest. "Yeah, sorta...I mean, Nestor said he'd finish it up..."

"Please don't leave all the work to one person," Pent reprimanded with a slight smile. To this, Thomas laughed uneasily.

"Y'know, it's terrible being scolded by someone younger than me..."

Pent's smile grew wider. "Perhaps you should consider acting like your age, then. Though, seven months is a negligible difference once one has reached adulthood. At that time, one's efforts take precedence over arbitrary factors such as age or gender."

"And rank?"

Frowning, Pent said, "...I would like to think so, despite the reality of the situation."

"Hey, don't say that. You're a noble, after all. You should know that whatever I do can't compare to you." Although Thomas was saying such straightforward words, Pent sensed that Thomas did not seem at all resentful of the great chasm that was the differences between their social ranks. The smile on the other man's face implied that much. "But that's okay, isn't it? Some people should be born to lead. If everyone was the same, then wouldn't it mean that there'd be no way to improve unless everyone was aiming their efforts in one direction? It's because we have kings and nobles that Etruria is the best country on Elibe."

To hear someone of the commoner class share such a view was both enlightening and somewhat bewildering. "Even if that means your suffering is greatly disproportional compared to those who, by birth, are 'better' than you?"

Thomas grinned. "I'm going to survive this and come home and tell everyone about this strange noble I met. It's like this, Captain. I've worked really hard for eighteen years, and I did pretty all right for myself and for the people depending on me. Yeah, I screwed up, but that's life. I have my pride as a commoner. We do suffer, but we're working hard to live. I can't not have pride in that, y'know? You should be the same way as a noble. Be as prideful as you can, because people are depending on you to have that. If you feel you're right and believe in it, the people will follow you because that's how the world's supposed to be."

"...I see," Pent could only respond. Though he felt Thomas' point was somewhat confused, the words were honest and insightful. More than that, they had him reconsidering who he was as a noble--who he was as a noble called Count Reglay.

Where was his pride as Count Reglay? Why did he never consider before that he should hold pride in the position? Why had he only considered himself cursed, bound to the title, when in truth it meant so much more?

Why had he never truly realized before that being Count Reglay meant something more to all the people depending on him?

"Then," he started, "would you follow me, even if I were to lead you into danger?"

"Sure," Thomas said without even a hint of hesitation. "You're the captain, right? And, I know you don't see anyone as your pawn the way that the Commander or Vice-Commander do. If you mean to do something, that'd be because it's the right thing to do. A lot of us feel the same way."

"Hm," Pent murmured. "I see."

-0-

The mail still hadn't arrived a few days later when Commander Michael and his second-in-command returned, but Pent refused to worry overmuch about it--the storms on the island coast were growing worse, forcing him to think more about more basic necessities than news from the mainland. Adding to the overall misery at camp was the apparent insistence the island had for more fog than what could ever be deemed normal, a white mist that almost seemed dangerous if one inhaled too much of it. The commander had snapped when he had overheard Thomas telling a ghost story about a lethal fog that clogged the lungs and aspirated its victims, and when Pent found himself commanded to order his friend and the story's audience to chop wood while all was cloaked within the impenetrable fog he had very nearly resisted. Perhaps he should have. There was something unnerving about listening to the monotonous sound of axes splintering wood all around him, unable to see even one of those who had been forced to attend to this chore of a punishment.

With such atrocious weather, it was a more than suitable time for an attack by the Western Isles' resistance. Were Pent on their side, he would have approved this first use of strategy he had seen from them in over half a year. As it was, he felt only a grim anxiety bearing down upon him as he followed behind the soldiers. The wind whipped his longish hair around, exposing his ears to the lancing cold. The spirits of the Western Isles, weak as they were in a land that did not recognize the magnificence of magic, groaned like an old man in his deathbed--Pent could not help but remember his father with that thought.

He was here because of his father. He came here because his sense of integrity allowed no less.

Was that as far as he would allow himself to go?

It was hard to breathe, and not because of the fog. No--with his thoughts and feelings pounding impatiently to do something, it was all he could do to keep the pace. What he wanted to do, what was the right thing to do...

He did not hear the steady beat of pegasus wings just yet, but he could remember the sound of them in the back of his mind. He could hear the cries of these brave women in the midst of battle, all while his own feet were firmly planted on the ground.

The right thing to do...

"Halt!"

Automatically Pent stopped, his body used to obeying the will of others. It was ingrained from the time of his childhood, from being a fosterling child with no status in a faraway county to a student to now, but never had the act of following others so disgusted him until now. There was a world of difference in being a child who needed to be commanded by others and being an adult who knew that the orders he was following were wrong.

Through the dense fog, he could just about make out the shadows of the soldiers in their formations, and wondered if they ever had thoughts similar to his. If so...no. He would not ask them, no matter that he remembered well Thomas' words. Before he had the right to command others, he had to command himself.

The heavy beat of a unit's worth of pegasus knights surprised him, but after the initial shock a sense of calm infused his being. It was time.

He started to walk forward.

There was the hissing sound common to an oil-soaked torch being lit, the scent of something burning irritating his nose, and then, "What do you think you're doing, Martel?"

_Ah_, Pent thought, _it would be too much to hope for that I would be able to depart without a confrontation_. Turning on his heel, he looked directly into the eyes of his commander, who was illuminated with the light of the torch the sub-commander held. The two men were high-class knights, sitting tall in the saddles of Etrurian-slender steeds, and with only his natural height to depend on Pent thought he should feel small, outclassed. Yet, he did not. He could not. Not with this feeling suffusing his entire being, from his heartbeat to his thoughts, that said only this: Do what you know is right.

Do it, not merely think it. Thinking about it, dwelling upon it, is not enough.

One needs more than thoughts to change the world.

"I'm going to help them," Pent said. Commander Michael's face darkened, as if all the shadows banished by the torchlight had congregated there.

"Have you forgotten my orders?"

"No," Pent said. "I'm disregarding them."

Urging his horse forward, Commander Michael did not stop until he was right before Pent, who knew that the other man was attempting to use his superior height advantage as a form of intimidation. However, what Pent liked less was seeing his commander's hand linger at the hilt of his sword; he was nearly convinced to return the threat by reaching for his own magic tome, strapped to his side, but realized just in time that the action wouldn't be conducive to his goal. He would not give the commander any more of an excuse to act against him.

"Captain," Commander Michael said in a deceptively calm tone, "get back in position and I'll think about forgetting what you just said."

He would never forget, Pent already knew that. That had no effect on his decision, but it was good to remember that. "I must decline. Our allies need assistance as soon as possible."

"You will fight when I tell you to fight. I don't care if they're all slaughtered first..." The commander smirked. "That will save us from having to fight them once they're hired by Bern, anyway. Their only loyalty is to gold, they would fight even their own country for the right sum. They're no better than--"

"Don't finish that sentence," Pent replied in a low tone. "Do with me whatever you like once I'm done. I will accept my punishment. However, in regards to your commands, I will disregard them with a clear conscience. We are Etrurians, from a kingdom built upon the words of Saint Elimine. We have a duty to treat our allies with respect, because our country was founded by a woman who did the same to save the entire world."

A flare of utter disdain colored the commander's face red for a moment. "The saint is dead. She isn't the one commanding you. _I_ am."

It was because of his metaphysical connection to the spirits of nature that Pent could feel an uncommon shift in the atmosphere, causing him to glance behind him in self-conscious concern. It appeared a number of soldiers had been listening to his conversation with the commander and were...displeased, to say the least. The cadre of priests who were the designated healers of the force looked especially appalled; it had been the sudden expansion of light magic residue that had disturbed the relatively few spirits that governed nature on this part of Fibernia. Of course blasphemy, even a relatively light smattering of it as they had all just witnessed, would shock any Etrurian, though if Pent were to be completely honest, he would have to wonder why spoken blasphemous thoughts were worse than actions that defied the good saint's laws. After all, everyone knew of the commander's predilections.

But religion had never been his forte, and so he only lowered his head. "I will return after the battle for my punishment," he stated, before turning around and heading toward the sounds of battle. It felt as though he had been swallowed up by the soldiers once he entered their ranks, blocking him from his commander's ire at that moment, and if he wasn't so sure that it was merely a coincidence he would have verbally expressed his gratitude. As it were, he was preparing himself for the battle; he did not ask for help from the soldiers because that would only put them in the way of the commander's rage--because he was going to fight and would not dare to ask any of them to put themselves in harm's way for his beliefs.

There was no pride at the actions he had just undertaken; this was what he should have done in the first place.

Because of the fog, he was unable to participate in the battle as much as he had intended, especially with the far more mobile and speedy pegasus knights having already won the battle for the most part. He only needed to cast a few spells to fell already-wounded enemies, once surprising Commander Leto while she was returning to finish off a foe she had disabled with her lance. The brief glance she had given him in that moment was unguarded, and inwardly he had been pleased to show her this--he meant every word he had told her. In the next instant she had already flown away, but the widening of those black eyes would be imprinted on his memory as proof that he had done this, that he was a man who would prove his words with his actions.

What would Louise say? Would she be proud of him? Would she even understand why this was necessary? After all, Louise always meant what she said. That was one of the many reasons why he so admired her...

He could hear the pegasus knights above him calling out affirmations that there were no more enemies hidden within the fog and knew that it was time for him to return and receive whatever punishment his commander would be happy to mete out. Having seen the cold, cruel pleasure Commander Michael displayed on his face at those times, Pent was determined to endure with the stoicism of his noble forebears. If they could bear incidents such as attacks from foreign armies and the backlash of poor silk or wine results, he certainly could do no less while taking responsibility for his own actions.

Walking back to the Etrurian soldiers with his head held high, Pent felt as through he was in a dream, even though his right hand stung with the residual power of magical fire. The fog was clearing, and he could just about see the silhouette of his commander as the other man dismounted from his horse. It would be all right, Pent thought, each step bringing him irrevocably closer to his fate. He had done this, knowing he would accept any consequence. After placing himself at the mercy of King Mordred himself, nothing could affect him as much.

This was what he thought, right up until his commander slammed a fist into his face.

Pent staggered back to the discordant sound of the shouts of the many soldiers watching this scene, not moving fast enough to dodge the blow that cracked against his shin. He fell backwards, and the way he landed on his back left him stunned for a moment. When he was becoming aware of himself as more than a being with pain echoing in three different locations, he shivered as he felt cold steel pressed against the side of his neck. "What are you...do you intend to kill me...?" he asked, he had to ask.

"My orders are absolute. Why shouldn't I get rid of any traitors?"

Pent opened his eyes, wincing at the throbbing pain down his back, radiating from his shin, pulsing from his cheek. Commander Michael stood above him, his face clear in the dying fog. "If you kill me, it will be a transgression you will never escape from."

The other man crouched down, the slight upward curve of his lips sickening Pent. "Ah, yes, I'm aware of who you are," the commander said in a quiet voice. "But don't worry about me, _my lord_, I hear they're working on that back home."

_What does he mean...the legal efforts to have my title stripped from me? Why would he know about that?_ Staring hard at the other man's face, Pent couldn't see any answer to his questions that made sense. Why would the commander be involved? After all, he wasn't from Reglay; he was a minor noble from the eastern part of Etruria. "That won't happen," he said. "There are people I trust who will--"

"I've heard. Your steward and a...rather pretty little girl." The tone of the commander's voice, coupled with the reference to Louise, caused something to shift inside Pent's mind. Heedless of the danger, he tried to rise, flinching only when the blade nicked his neck. "But the moment you stepped on this island, you lost everything. He made sure of that."

"Who?" Pent breathed, feeling a thin trickle of blood run down his neck. The commander smiled--

"What's this? This is the way a commander of the supposedly best military in all of Elibe acts towards his subordinates? Well well, it seems your ability to command is as limp as your fighting prowess."

--and at the sound of Commander Leto's voice Pent saw a change in the other man's demeanor, as fury swiftly twisted his expression. In the beat of a single moment, the commander stood up, removing the sword from Pent's neck, and turned to the woman, who was sitting tall in the saddle of her pegasus. "Leto, you're interrupting private Etrurian affairs. Don't you understand that whores shouldn't meddle in their masters' business?"

Pent flinched. He believed he was not the only one with such an adverse reaction.

"How original," Commander Leto said, her tone droll. "But I suppose I have to bow to your experience in such matters. We all have to be good at something, and you've already proven your lack of expertise in actual leadership. As the flightleader of Ilia's Pegasus Knight Brigade, I hold General Cassandra's ear when it comes down to the choice of deciding who Ilia supports. I see no reason why we should continue to bless the Kingdom of Etruria with our skill...and our blood."

Silence reigned for a time. Pent, who had struggled up into a sitting position, narrowed his eyes at his commander's back. From his position he could also see Commander Leto, and though he did not know all the expressions her face could hold, he knew enough to realize the seriousness of her proposal; withdrawing from a contract would do serious damage to Ilia's reputation as the land where the most loyal mercenaries dwelt. Though he figured she hated Etrurians in general, he could not fathom why she would risk everything now. It was painfully obvious to him, after all, that she cared not for him in the least.

Perhaps enough was enough. Perhaps seeing that Etruria's leadership would turn on its own for aiding Ilian allies was just too much for her...perhaps she knew that, for all the hate she could hold towards Etrurians, the hatred some Etrurians held for her and her own simply engulfed what she felt. He didn't know what spurred her on, what thoughts she held as she stared silently at his commander, but he found he wanted to know--he wanted to empathize with her. Even though she would undoubtedly hate that as much as she had hated his cowardice and unfulfilled words, he still felt this way.

"If you do that, then Ilia will have to be considered an enemy of Etruria," his commander finally said. "If that is the case, then my subordinate has aided an antagonistic element and will have to be executed for treason. If you thought you could protect him, you thought wrong."

Commander Leto smirked. "I don't give a damn about protecting Etrurian soldiers. I only care about my own. Etrurian incompetence kills my girls far more quickly than that paltry resistance ever could. You want to kill off the only halfway-useful officer on your side in the last two years, go ahead. That only confirms just how pathetic and ignorant you are, and I want no part in it." Her eyes fell upon Pent's, and he could not describe just how that single look made him feel. He could only stare back until she looked away.

"Then we have an understanding. For your farewell, I will have that boy hanging from the tallest scaffold I can have built. Are we clear, Leto?"

"Crystal," and with those words she left, her troop following behind her. Pent saw Gracia's face turned towards his direction, but their eyes did not meet and then she was gone. His commander turned to him, expression oddly neutral.

"I want two of you to escort the captain to one of the empty tents. A few others are going to get enough firewood for his former quarters, and the rest of you are going to start on that scaffold." He paused, waiting for everyone to jump on their new duties, and Pent felt an odd thrill when no one reacted. They seemed, if not frozen, then obviously discontent with their new orders. In turn, their inaction infuriated the commander, who snapped at the vice-commander, "Rossel, take him away. As for the rest of you, if you don't want to find yourselves strung up beside him, get moving _now_."

-0-

Pent sat in the dark, his arms bound behind his back, and listened to the spirits.

He had been doing this long before he ever learned about anima magic, even before he had been sent to live with his maternal relatives in their cold, desolate keep. Before he became a reserved young man he had been a reserved young boy, and once he had supposed he would remain this way for the rest of his life.

Well. That had been little more accurate than he preferred.

The reason why he had been drawn to anima was because it made sense, from its elegant theory to the calm emotions it inspired within him. It had nothing to do with blind faith or a deep abyss of power, neither of which he cared to bear; he believed in God and the holy saint and he did have quite the repertoire of emotional range when he required it, but light and elder magic were just beyond his abilities to fully comprehend in a more than academic necessity. Anima magic required nothing more than what he was willing to give--for that, he would give it everything. It had been so different than his duties as first the House Reglay heir, then its head; it had been childish of him, but its constant demands only made him resentful and contrary.

He knew that now. He accepted that now. He had realized his true responsibility to his county, his people. When he returned he had planned to establish reform for the sake of the people. And now...

And Louise...

Earlier, he had heard the crackling of fire and knew that the tent he had once occupied as the captain of the Etrurian expeditionary force in the Western Isles had been burnt to the ground. Everything in there was gone--his plans detailing what he wanted to do in Reglay once he returned, his reports from Raike, his magic assessment notes regarding his growth as a mage, the few tomes he had brought with him for his studies, his letters from Louise...

The feeling in his chest was like a weight that he could not remove. He would have gladly let everything burn if it meant that her letters to him could remain untouched. Were it not for the scarf still wound around his neck, it would have been a complete severing from her--it would have been as if they had no tangible connection at all. Feelings did not count; he barely could understand the depth of his feelings towards her, and of her own feelings he knew very little other than what he could tease out from between the lines of letters that were now nothing more than ash. Had he known this would be the result, he would have tried to be more clear...he would have been more honest to her, and to himself.

Though, perhaps that would have been cruel. Were the outcome still the same in a hundred different renderings, he would have walked away from his commander's orders every time.

_Louise_, he thought, _your father was right. I am the type of man who would bring sadness to you no matter how hard you tried for my sake._

The few spirits swirling around him seemed to react to his unsaid feelings, and on a whim he whispered, "Bring these feelings to her if you can. She isn't a mage, so it might be hard for her to understand, but I wouldn't have it any other way. Tell her I'm sorry. Tell her--"

Sudden sounds outside of his guarded confinement caught his attention, immediately quieting him as he strained to listen. He didn't have long to wait before the flap of the opening was pushed aside, and in the light of the lamp the newcomer held Pent saw... "...Thomas?"

"Captain," Thomas whispered back, the single word heavy with feeling. "Hey."

"...Hello."

"Uh, that's not what I really meant to say...I need to tell you something." Thomas scooted closer to Pent; in the small tent that served as his gaol, Pent began to feel somewhat claustrophobic. "The commander plans to execute you tomorrow evening, but you don't have to worry. Nestor and me, we're not going to let it happen."

To know the time he was going to die disquieted him, but at the mention of resistance against it Pent narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"

The light of the lamp caught Thomas' smile. "The commander's gone crazy. Everyone agrees. So we're going to start a mutiny."

"...What?"

"It's okay! I know the commander's really strong and he'll have backup, but we're not too bad when we see combat. Nestor used to be a mercenary back home, anyway, so he's a great ally. And, he thinks we can get the pegasus knights to help us. One of them actually agreed to talk to their scary commander about it."

Pent could hardly believe what he was hearing. "Gracia did?" Thomas paused.

"Is she the one with long, dark purple hair? The pretty one?"

"No, that would be Dame Yulie."

"Wow, Captain, you're really lucky. She said it's not fair that the other vice-commander got all your attention. It's every man's dream to have a cute pegasus knight."

"I'm engaged," Pent couldn't help but point out. "Also, I highly doubt Nestor would say such a thing."

"You're right, he didn't. But that doesn't mean he never thought about it. But, uh, speaking of your girlfriend..." From under his tunic, Thomas pulled out a bundle of very familiar envelopes, a sight Pent couldn't help but stare at in wide-eyed surprise. "I got on the fire-starting group and found these. I, uh, looked through a couple to make sure they were what I thought they were, but I think I got all of them."

There were no words Pent could say, save for, "Thank you."

"I-it's no problem. You'd probably do the same thing...no, I'm sure of it! Because you're the kind of person who helps anyone, even Ilians. That's why I'm going to do this, even if it costs me my life!" Looking over his shoulder, Thomas muttered a curse under his breath. "I gotta go. Here's your letters. I can't untie you just yet, since the commander might come in, but I'll just put them right here." Placing them just behind Pent, who was sitting against an empty box, Thomas stood to leave. "Don't worry, okay? No one's going to die."

"Thomas," Pent said, "take care."

He saw Thomas smile widely, and then the other man was gone. Enveloped in darkness once again, Pent lowered his head and closed his eyes. Though he had no idea what the future had in store for him, he felt the cresting of hope as it arose within him and he thought--believed--that everything just might be all right.

-0-

It was a scream that woke up him much later, when the darkness of the night was as limitless as the source of elder magic was said to be.

With his heart pounding in his chest, he waited, and found he did not have long to hang suspended in his anxiety before another scream followed, then a multitude of shouts, cries--it sounded like a war was going on outside. But that made no sense to Pent, as Thomas had promised that no one was going to die. No matter what was happening within the Etrurian forces, it shouldn't sound so...unrestrained.

A man screamed just on the other side of the tent wall, his last words heavy with an unfamiliar accent.

Pent began struggling with his bonds, though the rope was too tightly wound for him to gain much leverage. Someone was inevitably going to enter and find him here, and he had no intention of being at the mercy of an unknown enemy.

"Captain!"

The flap of the tent entrance was pushed aside, and all he could see was the outline of a man before the flap was replaced, leaving them both in the darkness. "Who are you?" Pent demanded.

"Nestor, Captain. I will free you. We must be quick." He felt strong hands on his shoulders and complied the best he could, moving so that his bound arms could be more easily reached from behind him. The rope slackened as a blade began slicing through it, and when his arms were released Pent only realized then how deadened they felt without proper blood circulation. He groaned with the effort of moving them forward and Nestor must have overheard, for the next thing he had to do was bite the inside of his mouth when the other man grasped his upper arm and disturbed the sensation of the limb.

"Captain?"

"My apologies. My arms are..."

"I understand, but we have to leave now."

"Wait--" The effort almost undid him, but Pent reached for the letters behind him and stuffed them inside his coat, making sure they stayed without needing further attention before he rose to his feet. "I am ready. What's going on?"

"I need to take you to Thomas. That was his wish."

An instant of utter dread made Pent go still. "What do you mean, his wish?"

"Silence, Captain. We've too many enemies for talk."

Perturbed at Nestor's reticence, Pent followed the older man's lead out of the tent, trying not to wince with every errant movement of his stiff arms. Any attention his arms held sway over in his mind was immediately lost, however, once he glimpsed the chaos that surrounded the area--the sounds of battle were easily identifiable after months abroad, and he was far too used to hearing them at a distance. When he made to head in the direction of the greatest concentration of noise, Nestor pulled him back like he imagined any mother creature would to an errant child.

"Captain, Thomas comes first."

Pent acquiesced, if only because the grip on his shoulder was a testament to the strength the normally laconic mercenary kept hidden and he had a feeling that, should he resist in any way, Nestor would bodily handle him to Thomas. It did not help that he was growing suspicious--was Thomas holding down a safe area within the camp? That was what he would like to believe, but his doubts reigned over his optimism. Without another word, Pent followed Nestor from shadow to shadow until they reached an area of the camp where even the din of the battle seemed like a faraway dream. There was only some clutter here, firewood and a cabin not even halfway complete, and the longer Pent looked at it the more weight his doubts gained.

"Thomas is here?"

Nestor seemed to ignore him, moving aside some of the logs to get better access inside the cabin. "Captain, come here."

Though he came willingly enough, Pent flinched when the stench of blood, metallic and heavy, seemed to fill every physical sense he possessed, overwhelming as it was. "Thomas?" he called, his voice sounding strange to his own ears.

"Hey...Captain."

Pent looked down and could barely make out an outline of a body through the enclosed site. "Thomas, what happened?" he said, crouching down. He reached for what he assumed was Thomas' shoulder; his hand met something warm and wet. "Thomas!"

"Yeah...I bet it doesn't look too good." Thomas' chuckle sounded dry and empty in such a cramped, lonely place. "The Islanders...we got ambushed by them. I got hit...Nestor says I won't survive tonight. He says I'm lucky, 'cause I can't really feel...it's cold..."

"Thomas, please--" But Pent didn't know what he was pleading for, when no matter where he touched on Thomas' body there was only the slick sensation of blood.

"Captain, I'm sorry...I looked through your letters a little. I know who you are, but I don't get why you're here..." Thomas coughed; it sounded wet. "It's like I'm drowning..."

"Captain, sit him up," Nestor's voice broke through the quiet desperation coursing through Pent's mind. He did as he was told, but all Thomas seemed able to do was cough and cough.

For all his vaunted intelligence, Pent was helpless in this moment. All he could do was grit his teeth as he tried to reach for something to say, anything-- "I'm here to accept a punishment that should have belonged to my father and his steward, but it was my fault as well. The nobility has a responsibility to the people, after all. I could never run away from that."

"Haha...that's like you." The voice Pent had grown accustomed to hearing was much louder, filled with far more vitality than it was now. "I've got a request. When you get out of here, go find my family. You remember my home, right? I'm not asking for you to take care of them...I just want them to see...this is what a good noble looks like. This is--" A cough ripped through Thomas' throat, over and over again, until all he was doing was hacking out what sounded like his life, his body shaking and shuddering in Pent's arms.

And then it was over. Thomas was dead.

Pent knelt there for what felt like a long time afterward; long enough, it felt, to become as scattered and immaterial as the few anima spirits lingering on the island. Other than the strange swirling ache inside his chest, there was no other sensation to remind him as to his own mortality; even his mind was dull, unable to do little more than process the weight of the dead man in his arms.

Why wouldn't his mind work as it should? It was all he had.

His face grew warmer and warmer as he attempted to force his mind into the effort of processing and rationalizing what had just occurred. Yes, someone he would have called a friend was dead, but this was not the first time he had witnessed death. Had he not been present at his father's deathbed? He had not the threat of hot tears gathering at his eyes then, so why...why was this...?

"Captain," he heard Nestor say from behind him, the older man's voice heavy with unspoken feeling. Pent tried to swallow; it hurt to do so. "We must leave."

"Ah," Pent breathed.

"The others are going to need our help."

"Ah."

"We will bury him afterward."

Despite Pent's best intentions, no matter how tightly he clenched his jaw, he could not hold back a few hot tears from escaping. Sucking in a deep breath through his teeth did not make him feel any more human than before, but it would have to do. He moved back enough that there was enough room to properly lay out Thomas' body. The removal of that weight made Pent feel almost insubstantial, but he knew enough from his prior experience with death to realize that he needed to complete his duties first. Later, perhaps, there would be time enough to mourn.

"Yes," Pent said, his voice sounding rough to his own ears. "Later."

-0-

When he and Nestor showed up at the Etrurian defense line within the camp, they were nearly speared for their trouble, with good reason. The bodies of dead Etrurians and Western Islanders littered the area, and behind the able soldiers there were many injured ones. "Captain!" one of the defenders exclaimed, and this sent a ripple of...well, Pent would hesitate to call it 'excitement', but there seemed to be a liveliness there that was non-existent before.

"Nestor, you coward!" rang out another voice, a rather furious one by the sound of it. "How dare you come back after you ran away!"

Pent glanced at Nestor, whose face, by the light of the torches set up around the defense line, looked stiff and emotionless. He didn't dare ask if this was true, not now--and perhaps not later. "Enough," Pent said, raising his voice just enough to be heard. "What is the current situation?"

Adel, a young man who Pent was acquainted with through Thomas, pushed his way to the front, holding bloodied strips of cloth to his left shoulder. He had once been a knight for a viscount, which gave his reports authority. "The resistance force ambushed us while we were engaged in the tasks the commander had set out for us. As we had no guards or anyone on watch, we were quickly routed. The commander and vice-commander fought valiantly, but were overwhelmed. While at first we considered fighting back, it seemed more prudent to set up a defense line." The young knight paused, then looked around. "We are in desperate need of leadership. Captain, it's good to see you."

"Ah...well." The longer Pent looked at the remnants of the Etrurian army, the more quickly his mind seemed to wake up, creating and discarding plans based on the few facts he had. "How many are here?"

When he tilted his head, Adel's red-gold hair caught the light of the torches, making it appear as if he himself was aflame. "Roughly two-thirds. Of that, a fourth are too injured to fight."

"What about the priests?"

"Two are dead, and one is currently unconscious."

_No healing._ Pent nodded. "Have you heard anything from the pegasus knights?"

"One came by. They successfully cleared out their area with minimal injuries and are getting ready to attack the resistance who have taken over the western part of our camp."

Looking out in the distance, Pent could see the ominous lightness of the fog as the sea breezes began to blow more heavily. Soon they would be surrounded by it, with only the torches to mark their position to the resistance--the true hell of a fog of war campaign. "We'll have to use it to our advantage," he murmured before catching the confusion on the faces of the soldiers...his soldiers. "This fog," he clarified, "we can use it to covertly extend our defense line under its cover. It will be slow, but with proper ongoing communication it is feasible to push them out of our original camp boundaries. The fog here settles for a long time, so we have no choice but to understand that the duration of this battle will be fought with it."

"Proper communication?" Adel asked.

Gesturing to the western side of the camp, Pent said, "It would be too visible if we used torches once the fog hits. If they have long-range attackers, they will use it to their advantage. Therefore, we'll have to use chants of some sort to let everyone else know where each person is."

Quickly, a plan was devised using his initial thoughts on the situation. Once the fog covered the area, the able-bodied soldiers would march in two lines. Every ten steps would be combined with one of the marching chants that had been drilled into them by the commander. A battle would have to be fought by whoever encountered the enemy--they did not have enough men to fully utilize this plan as well as assist others under attack, as the commander had planned for a much larger camp than was necessary, and thus there was too much empty space that would need to be recovered in order to claim the camp again. Forty men in rows of two were quickly formed, with ten men left with the wounded where the original defense line had been struck. After heated discussion it was decided to leave the torches alight at that area for the sake of the would-be medics, as well as to make it easier to escape should that become necessary.

Pent hoped not. He wanted a sign that told him that he wasn't as useless as he begun to fear he was.

There was nobody available to alert the pegasus knights, especially as the hostility Commander Leto held for the Etrurian army possibly marking any messenger for death should Pent send someone. He could only hope there was time later to clear the air between the two so-called allies. As it was, standing behind Nestor in the center of the line with a dead enemy mage's barely used fire tome in his hands, Pent could only hope for a lot of things. As the fog rolled over their position, he touched the letters tucked into his coat, remembering Louise's fierce gaze so long ago as she stared down the targets at Alloway's weapon festival. If he wanted to survive tonight, better to remind himself how she looked in the throes of determination rather than her smile.

The conviction necessary to succeed, despite all odds...yes, that lay within him too.

Parting his lips, he yelled, "Begin!"

With the fog and the darkness, Pent could barely even see Nestor in front of him, but when someone began counting for the march, he felt assured by the sounds of forty pairs of footsteps marching in time. At the tenth step he called out, "Clear!" and the resounding cheer made him do something unusual for this night: he smiled. Then someone else began the count...which was immediately stopped with a yell and the sound of metal clashing with metal. The lines stopped as planned while the battle continued; though Pent wished more people could assist their comrades, preventing any breaks in the defenses line was paramount, especially with the fog making it unlikely that anyone could simply return to their place in the lines at the conclusion of the fight. He could only listen to the sound of metal cutting through flesh, and then a strange, gurgled cry, hoping against hope that he hadn't just condemned one of his soldiers to death.

There was a moment of silence, and then an Etrurian-accented voice called out, "We're okay!" The feeling of relief had never felt so welcome inside Pent until now, and after the cheers from the rest of the soldiers dissipated, Pent resumed the count, which everyone else took to with an almost tangible sense of pride.

Then there was the sound of wings beating through the air--a flock, a squad of pegasus knights.

Nobody knew if they should cheer or not; Pent merely kept up the count until he reached ten, then called out. By the time someone else began the new count, the sound of wings already sounded far ahead. Commander Leto was much respected by her soldiers for her tactical ability, according to Gracia, so he felt that his nervousness was unjustified, but he had long since discovered that the flow of a battle was a delicate thing. And who knew what lurked within the fog...

He had scarcely enough time to think that before he heard the telltale _thwip_ of many archers' bows, and then, the screams...

"Halt!" he shouted. "Hold the line!"

In the distance, he could hear Commander Leto calling for a retreat. There were other cries, but they were too far away to be intelligible. Stuck within the impenetrable darkness, there were only murmurs of surprise from some of the other soldiers, the odd jangling of a sword in its scabbard or the pole-end of a spear digging into the dirt, and the impossibly loud beat of his heart as it seemed to echo in his head.

_We cannot ensure any meaningful victory tonight without their help._

That was a fact. Pent simply could not see any way of fully regaining the entire Etrurian camp as well as securing its borders without assistance from the pegasus knights, who were all to the last trained for warfare. With his numbers, as well as the relative lack of training for soldiers who were first and foremost prisoners, as well as the weather conditions...if the lines met against a substantial force, they were the ones who were unlikely to win.

With that in mind, he raised his voice as he repeated, "Hold the line!" Turning to his right, where he knew Adel was standing in the front line, he said, "I'm going to request assistance from Commander Leto. I want you to maintain this position until I return."

The answer he received was hesitant. "Captain, the pegasus knights were just--"

"There are still some left, and that includes their commander." He tried to smile, though he knew no one could see it. "I want everyone to survive tonight. This is our best chance of doing so."

"How will we know it's you?"

Pent smiled with more honesty this time. "What else? More marching songs, I suppose."

Adel laughed. "You'll make a lonely figure with that. May the saint watch over you."

"The same to you." With that, he left the line, fighting to orient himself in the limitless fog. It did not help that, despite the thirty or so steps the line had been able to take, the torches from the original defense line were already cloaked. The pegasus knight camp was south of the Etrurian camp, but it seemed as though they had doused their torches before they had left; no matter how many steps he took, he was unable to procure even a hint of visibility.

_Didn't Commander Leto once say she could See me?_

Magical sight was only common among those with magic, but pegasus knights were physical warriors. However, if Commander Leto was telling the truth--and she had no reason to lie, as she was vicious with the truth as it was--then, perhaps, it was true that pegasi were magical creatures, sharing some similarity with dragons in that aspect. If that was so, he could hypothetically find the camp by tracking down the magical signatures of the pegasi. Letting himself shift his perception as if he were looking for spirits to commune with, he found dim silver lights to the southeast of where he stood, the color of the auras unfortunately blending into the thick night fog. With some effort he managed to orient himself towards the pale auras, his brisk pace becoming even more hurried when he heard the clash of metal from the lines of soldiers. He could only hope this trip would allow him to bring back good news...

The closer he got to those silver auras, the more his regular eyesight could see a dim golden glow--the pegasus knights had definitely returned, their camp alight. However, once he arrived at the camp he could all but feel the panic arising from the camp, from the frenzied footfalls to the screams and shouts within. All the activity was centered around the largest tent in the site, and he nearly stepped in the way of a small girl as she darted inside the tent, water sloshing in a bucket of water. Reaching up to place a hand just over his hidden letters, he took a deep breath to center himself before he stepped inside.

The first thing he saw--the very first thing--was a young girl, perhaps even younger than Louise, covering her mouth with both hands as another pegasus knight cut out an arrowhead from her shoulder with the use of a small dagger. Tears streamed down her reddened eyes, but if she was screaming she was doing it so quietly that not even a whisper escaped her hands. Pent couldn't bear the sight for more than a few seconds, his gaze sweeping the interior of the tent as he looked for Commander Leto. When he finally found her, she was sitting in the back corner with Vice-Commander Yulie standing by her side. It was only when he closed the distance between them that he saw what the commander's gaze was focused on, and it took everything he had not to turn around and leave. It was a body, covered with a sheet.

He glanced around, the oppressive dread within him growing heavier when he realized he could not account for Gracia anywhere.

"Commander Leto," he said as he drew near. She looked up at him. With her hair unbound and her pale face streaked with blood flowing from a gash at her temple, she looked far, far too young to be the second-in-command of the Pegasus Knights Brigade, the powerful flightleader and commander of the second wing. All of the pegasus knights looked too young to be risking themselves constantly in wars started by other people, foreign interests. He and the rest of the Etrurians on Fibernia were too young--everybody was too young to be killing each other like this!

So, why were they?

"What?" she asked, her tone flat.

He could not believe he was here, asking this. "We...have need of your assistance."

There was a flicker of disgust on her face, and then she shook her head before glancing at her vice-commander. "Yulie, did you hear that? We haven't shed enough blood yet for our Etrurian masters."

"Commander..." he murmured, entirely unwilling to say anything further but knowing he had to say something. At the sound of his voice, Commander Leto rose from her seat, her face a testament to all the pain and fury her sarcastic words and bitter smirks may have always been hiding

"Do you know what you're fighting for?" she demanded. Before he could even think of opening his mouth, she jabbed a finger at him. "Your country is a damn leech! 'Blessed by god'? How much does your god have to hate other countries that the oh-so-holy Kingdom of Etruria has to take, and take, and take _all_ the best parts of its neighbors so it can look good? And then we pegasus knights have to be grateful to have the chance to kill others so your country can go plunder them. We have to live and die gracefully by some archaic knights' code so Etruria doesn't have to feel bad that they are paying us to die. Grace? What the hell is 'grace', anyway?" In one fluid movement, before Pent had the chance to turn away, Commander Leto flung the bloodied cloth from the body that was laid before them. "Do you think she died gracefully?!"

Pent stared, horrified.

Gracia laid before him, completely and utterly broken. Her so-called lavender hair, once so light and gray that he could only smile in bemusement every time she claimed it to be the same vivid color as Louise's eyes, was now soaked so thoroughly with blood that it appeared nearly black. One side of her face was crushed, though thankfully her eyes were closed. Her once white uniform was blotched red, the center of each stain being a puncture wound. It was obvious, even to him, the sequence of events that had taken her life.

"This," Commander Leto hissed, "is the result of your imperialistic madness."

"It isn't mine."

"What?"

"I said, it's not mine!" Pent shouted. "Do you think I wanted this? Do you think that any one of us want to die in a foreign land because we think it's right? Who would even think there was anything right about this? Who would..." He forced himself to look away from Gracia's corpse and, in a softer voice, requested, "Please cover her. She deserves that much."

Commander Leto did it, though he supposed it had very little to do with his plea. "Why are you here?"

"Because I need your help."

"Where is your commander?"

"He died in the ambush."

Commander Leto smirked. He supposed he couldn't blame her, but all the same he could not find relief in that man's death. "The vice-commander too?"

Pent nodded. "I am leading this battle for what is left of the Etrurian army."

"And what do you want, specifically?"

"We cannot win without your strength. Your troops are more experienced in combat than mine are as a whole."

"And we're not going to be your shield?" she inquired. "You're not going to use us to take the brunt of the damage?"

"No," he said. "You are our allies."

Something flickered in the dark depths of her eyes before she nodded. "Then we will assist. We can also use this time to recover the rest of our dead."

"The rest?" Pent asked. He supposed there were less pegasus knights in the tent, but he would have imagined they were in other places within the campsite.

"Yes, three others, and four pegasi." Commander Leto looked at Gracia's covered body, blood obscuring her profile, and Pent realized what it took to even bring one body back. He nodded and made to leave, but was stopped by her voice. "I was bluffing that time. I have more honor than that, for the sake of my people."

It took him a moment to understand what she had meant. "That's all right," he responded, smiling a little over his shoulder at her. "He would have found other means to bring legality to my execution."

"Good thing the bastard's dead, then," she remarked casually. The urge to smile left him, and without further ado he left the main tent.

Perhaps it was a good thing that both his commander and vice-commander were dead, although he could not bring himself to believe that. Although it did mean that he no longer had the means to discover whatever plot against him that Commander Michael had alluded to, Pent knew he no longer had to bear any repercussions from this unsavory element.

That was fine. He already had enough on his mind as it was.

-0-

His soldiers were fairly surprised when he returned, flanked by the remainder of the pegasus knights, but they quickly recovered and turned to strategy. That became much more difficult, however, with the quandary they soon found themselves faced with.

"We can't fly," Commander Leto stated. "They finally have archers now."

"If you can't fly, what good are you for?" said a voice from deeper within the fog. With the light of the torch he had carried in order to find his way back to the line, Pent first glanced in the direction of the voice, then at the pegasus knights' commander, then decided it wouldn't be worth it.

"Then our main priority is to dispatch the archers," he said. To this, no one had any sort of rejoinder or comment. "Is this unreasonable?"

"It seems it would be difficult to specifically find archers in this fog. I can understand how the archers were able to shoot at the pegasus knights with such accuracy if they were aiming towards the sound of pegasi wings, but there is no similar tactic for finding the archers," Adel reasoned.

Pent frowned at this, until he heard Dame Yulie's voice. "They'll aim towards the light, won't they? Have someone carry the torch, and use their arrows to find them out."

"That's asking a lot," countered Adel. "There isn't anyone here who can carry a torch and fight at the same time. Our swords are just too heavy for that, and never mind spears."

The warmth from the torch was almost comforting as Pent shifted his hold on it. "Actually, that would not be quite correct. For a mage, it shouldn't be impossible." To his words, he heard Etrurian accents mutter in discontent.

"To have our captain risk his life in such a gamble is too much!" Adel exclaimed. "If you die, we will no longer have any leadership! We're finished if that happens!"

"...I will do whatever is necessary to ensure that everyone survives tonight. If I have to risk my life to do so, then that is the least I can do. And," Pent looked around at what few faces he could see by the torch's light, "I know enough to not insist on going alone. Who is willing to come with me?"

No one said a word for the barest of moments, a heartbeat of hesitation. Inwardly, Pent smirked at the absurdity; given a choice to survive or to risk one's own life, it was only natural for the majority to take the latter. He certainly had a vested interest in surviving, yet he had shown enough cowardice throughout his term here to never be accused of bravery in his life. It was time to change that, if not for his own sake then for the sake of his men, all of whom were depending on him to make the right choices tonight.

"I will go," said Nestor. Standing on the very outskirts of the light, his expression was difficult for Pent to see. There was only his stance to depend upon for any information as to the older man's mindset, firm and with arms crossed.

"...letting a murderer alone with the captain, though..."

It was deathly quiet after that mumble floated by, but Pent elected not to betray the fact that he had heard it as if someone had shouted it into his face. He only nodded at Nestor. "I'll be depending on you. Adel, please keep watch over this area until I return."

"If it is what you wish," Adel responded, his disapproval clear in his voice. Pent could only be thankful that it was not given words as well, accepting the formal remark with another nod of his head before stepping forward.

It was one thing to walk behind the defense line, relatively safe despite the ominous feeling the nighttime fog brought, and quite another to walk towards the enemy while bearing the means of bait for the archers--and a possible avenue for his own death. As much as he wanted to assure himself and the others that he was going to survive this ordeal, his reasoning was too advanced for optimism without evidence.

But, he did not want to die. Perhaps that would make all the difference.

Nestor walked beside him without a word, keeping to his right side, away from the torch Pent had switched to his left hand. Along with the torch he held his Fire tome, mindful of the fact that it was not quite the optimal way to hold a magic tome, but it did free his right hand for casting spells. Though, he couldn't say he wouldn't have preferred a shield, considering his primary role...

The subtle _twang_ was all he was allowed as a warning--Pent moved, hearing a _swish_ beside him where he had been standing just a moment earlier. Before he could catch his bearings, Nestor grabbed his free arm. "That way. Follow me," was all the former mercenary said before he took off in a light job, unsheathing his sword at the same time. Pent hurried, knowing that Nestor needed all the light he could get in the fog, but he could not say he appreciated having such a close view of what could only occur once Nestor found the archer. A single swing of the sword expelled more blood from the archer's body than what Pent thought was possible; it was about this time that he appreciated his interest in magic for more practical means, like relative lack of clean-up after a battle. The archer died without a scream, and Nestor nodded in suppressed satisfaction.

"...How long have you been a mercenary?" Pent asked, staring at the stained sword. Nestor glanced at him, then looked away.

"Since I was your age, Captain. It was the only means I could think of to reach my goal."

"Did you ever attain it?"

When Nestor turned to look at him, Pent caught the slight smile on the older man's face. Then Nestor pointed out into the murky distance. "We'll need to hurry. That torch won't last forever."

Pent could only wish that the other man hadn't said that, as it forced him to notice the dimming light. If it died out before they returned, he was certain they would not find their way back before morning--he may as well say that they would never be able to return. They began walking back to their original position before he had dodged the arrow, Nestor pointing where to go. Pent tried to keep alert, though it seemed that the darkness was encroaching at a faster rate--

_Thwip_.

Pent turned at the sound, but then a sudden pain erupted from his left shoulder and he hissed in equal parts shock and agony as he staggered forward. Nestor turned, the fierce expression on his face surprising Pent nearly as much as the pain of being shot. "Behind..." the mercenary murmured before stalking past Pent, who sank to his knees and reached for the arrow with his right hand. It was jutting out at an odd angle, but he was able to pull it out with minimal discomfort; in reality, his coat and other layers of clothes had been thick enough to deflect the arrow, and he had been lucky enough to have been struck on the shoulder bone before the arrowhead found flesh. The bleeding and pain bothered him, but he had no vulneraries on him--that part of the camp had been taken over. He felt a little nauseous from the pain, and he fought to control the feeling roiling from his stomach upwards.

"Captain."

"I'm fine," Pent said as if by reflex, rising to his feet as smoothly as he could. He turned around. "Did you..." he began, then looked at the fresh blood dripping off of Nestor's blade and decided it was a foolish question. "Let's continue, then."

Nestor eyed him with just a little too much knowing for Pent to feel comfortable. "There is no shame in returning if you don't feel well. Mages are well-known for being less durable."

A little piqued at the implication--no matter that it was probably true--Pent shook his head. "I'll survive," he said with a shortness that revealed his annoyance more than he would have preferred. "We need to finish this quickly."

Without saying another word, Nestor walked past him and Pent followed, more mindful of his wound, particularly the bleeding sensation, which brought a chill through him. The fog was bearing upon them, the light of the torch growing feeble, and Pent realized they would have to be very lucky if they were to finish this macabre mission on time.

_Thwip thwip thwip._

With his heart racing in his chest, Pent moved; he felt an arrow glance off of the top of his boot, but thankfully that was the closest any of them came to piercing him again. Nestor was already running in the direction the arrows came from, and Pent hurried, knowing that multiple archers would be difficult for even a seasoned mercenary such as Nestor to confront. He came just in time to see Nestor bearing upon the closest archer--and just at the edge of the dimming light Pent could see another one take aim at the mercenary. With a deep breath, Pent focused on his magical reserves, already resonating with the tome he carried though he hadn't even used it yet, and wondered only briefly if even his intermittent entrances on the battlefield over the last half-year had helped him grow stronger with magic than all his years studying anima theory.

Magic's primary use in the modern era was for battle, after all. He wondered what would happen once humanity moved beyond the need for warfare...or, would that ever be possible?

It was no time for philosophy; he chanted the Fire spell, jabbing his right hand towards the archer as he cried out the trigger word to release magical fire. His aim was true, tongues of flame splattering onto the archer, searing through the weak protection of his clothes and burning through flesh with an ease that made something in Pent's chest flinch.

The archer did not die quickly, writhing for several seconds as he screamed in agony, but he did die.

He remembered the prayers of the high-ranking priest who had spoken the benedictions at his father's funeral, and under his breath he said the one that came to mind first--_Oh holy saint, deliver us to the country of God_--before looking up from the archer's charred body.

"Captain!"

Pent saw that there was one more archer, one he hadn't accounted for, and that archer was loosening an arrow just as his eyes found him. Without thinking, Pent dodged to the right, narrowly avoiding an arrow that could have very likely finished him, then cast another spell. The words came so easily to him that he was watching a fireball fly towards the archer just as it seemed conscious thought was reforming in Pent's mind, and although the Fire spell only struck the archer's arm, it was far more than enough as a distraction as Nestor rushed forward and killed the archer as he wailed in agony.

Swallowing, Pent looked around. Five archers. He had a feeling that the Western Isles resistance group, which used only axe-users for all the time he had been here, had lost all the men they had trained to counter the pegasus knights.

"All right," Pent said. "I think that's enough. It's time for us to take back the rest of the camp."

-0-

As the fog dissolved into late morning mist, Pent patted loose earth into place at Thomas' grave.

The Etrurian forces had taken heavy losses during the night, reduced from a hundred soldiers to sixty-three; out of the latter, a fourth were heavily injured. With only one priest having survived the night, it would be a while until everyone was healed. No one had gotten through the night without sustaining some sort of injury, though many of the men were in fairly high spirits, comparing battle wounds like they were badges of honor. Pent rose from his crouching position, briefly touching his injured shoulder, which had been expertly wrapped by Adel--the former knight had insisted upon it, chiding Pent for his 'recklessness' all the while.

He looked out to the pegasus knight encampment, where he had gone earlier to formally express his condolences. Though Commander Leto would not allow him to stay for Gracia's burial, indicating that Ilian knights were never buried if a substantial body of water was nearby, she did accept his words with a sense of resignation that was unlike the woman. It was understandable, and after he finished his main duties for the day he planned to visit her again. As the highest-ranking officer between their two forces, she was someone he knew he would have to depend on until Etruria sent a new commander.

"Captain! The ship's finally here!"

Pent hurried to the shoreline, where the supply boat from the mainland was docked. There was a lone officer there, which was not unusual, though Pent noticed for the first time that the crest the officer wore was familiar, and not because he knew what the Kingdom of Etruria's heraldry looked like. It wasn't one from Reglay's noble houses either...but he put it out of his mind when the officer began to speak. "Where is Commander Michael Tessier?"

"He was killed in the ambush last night, along with the vice-commander," Pent reported. "I have taken over command in the interim."

The officer said nothing for a long moment. "I see. That is a shame, as well as a surprise. I will inform the general as to the losses suffered. It may be some time before a new commander is sent to relieve you."

Nodding, Pent said, "I understand." He glanced at the boat. "What about the mail and supplies?"

"Unfortunately, the storms have decimated the roads. It will take a little while longer."

Pent hid his disappointment as best he could; he could have really used a letter from Louise to help remind him about the world beyond the Western Isles. Well, he wanted to hear from Louise for many reasons, but that would do. "Understood. We will maintain this position in the meantime until we receive further orders."

The officer nodded, then returned to the boat. Pent watched it as it began to skim across the strait, bound for Etruria.

It was the last time he would see that boat again.

-end-

First of all: Today is my birthday. I'm so pleased to be releasing this story today, especially considering how long it took me to write it! Anyway, if you've been reading have never reviewed, why not do so today? I'm mired in stress but determined to enjoy myself, so I'd really appreciate it if you chose today of all days to tell me how you feel about this series. Is there anything you like? Anything you don't care for? I'm always looking to improve my writing, so please feel free to advise me!

As far as Bouquet goes, we're quickly approaching the climax of the entire series...and that's all I can say! Please look forward to the next story on 5/17!

Thomas' story: The story he tells about fog that chokes its victims is inspired by the Lovecraftian text adventure game _Anchorhead_ by Michael S. Gentry.


	22. Spring's Blossoming Bonds

Bouquet

(C) Intelligent Systems and Nintendo

-0-

Spring's Blossoming Bonds: Variegated Tulip, Chinese Chrysanthemum, Calycanthus  
(_beautiful eyes that shine with cheerfulness under adversity will earn benevolence every time_)

Caerleon County was truly beautiful; its open fields continually touched Louise with the memory of her home, while its many cozy towns and villages was worthy of the region that was considered 'the gateway of Etruria'. Beyond its eastern border was Ostia, capital of Lycia, a league of small and large cantons not quite as advanced as either Etruria or Bern but said to have its own rustic charm. Someday, she thought it might be nice to visit there if Lord Pent was amenable to it...it would be quite wonderful to travel far and wide across Elibe, to see the world with her own two eyes...

"Cousin? What are you smiling about?"

Her heart fluttering madly, much like a little butterfly struggling towards the next bright flower to catch its eye, Louise held a hand to her chest as she looked at Joshua, who had a hint of a teasing smile lingering along his lips and twinkling in his dark turquoise eyes. "I was only thinking," she replied, her tone a whole octave higher than it ought to be--she felt her face warm at the sound, while his smile lengthened. "W-well, how are you finding the trip?" she urged, more to avoid further embarrassment than pure curiosity.

"We'd only cut through this area the last time..." He hesitated. "I mean, it's okay. I can't believe I'm meeting a real count today."

Here, Louise couldn't help but play with one of the bouncy ringlets that fell past her bosom--Celia had set her hair and chosen the gown she wore today, but because she was being escorted by her cousin Celia was unable (and unwilling) to accompany them on their trip to Castle Caerleon. Letting her fingers linger at the end of the whirling curl, Louise murmured, "Are you unhappy?"

Joshua sat up a little straighter; if he was uncomfortable in the excellent suit of clothing her mother had arranged for him he didn't show it. Louise so admired that about her cousin, that he seemed to fit perfectly into whatever role it was decided he should play. A traveling hunter, heir to Alloway's finest gentry name, escort of Count Reglay's acknowledged fiancée...he seemed to take to all of it with the same gentle smile and kind eyes. Knowing that she did not fit so easily, she found it easy to envy him a little, and even easier to use him as an example of what she should be ever since she had returned home just under a month ago.

In the end, though she hated it so, she was forced to obey Lord Pent's final letter. Since then, there had been no word, no closure. But though she could do naught but pray for him, she could still feel in her heart and soul that he was still alive somewhere, and that gave her great comfort. She would not lose faith now.

"I'm not unhappy," her cousin finally said. "I've met with Lord Aramis many times alongside your father, and I don't feel that all nobles are as terrible as my mom believes. I just feel weird about your plan."

She looked at him and tried to smile. "You don't believe it will work?"

"I guess I still don't know about your count." He looked away, color high on his cheekbones. "You haven't received anything in almost two months."

"I..." Her gaze darted away from Joshua's form, to the window in the carriage door beside her. Blossoms as vibrantly pink as the color of her dress weighed down the branches of the trees beside the highway leading to the castle city of Caerleon. Lord Pent's eighteenth birthday had passed without a word from him, and despite her desires she had already been in Alloway by then. Already it was March, already it was nearing the time he would come home and then, if he would still have her...

"Lord Pent is alive," she said. She had said it before, over and over as the weeks passed, but she already knew the doubt on Joshua's face more keenly than her cousin could ever know it, even were he to carry a mirror wherever he went.

"...I shouldn't say this, but isn't it worse if he is alive and he's not..." But thankfully, Joshua did not bring a proper conclusion to the sentence, though she had heard it before too. She had, it seemed, heard everything before.

Twisting her fingers in her lap, Louise pleaded, "Can't we talk about something else?"

Joshua coughed. "Um, well, lately I've been following your mother's advice but Celia still won't talk to me..."

That was another thing she so loved about her cousin: He was just as willing to allow himself to be embarrassed as he was in asking questions that could embarrass others. His sense of equality, she imagined, was very Lycian of him.

-0-

While Caerleon Castle did not possess the same grandeur that Castle Reglay so firmly held, in exchange it had a sense of charm that began when Louise had stepped into the foyer and headlong into Nella's embrace and never really ended as the older woman began a whirlwind tour of the castle that nearly overwhelmed both herself and her cousin. There were rooms filled with sunlight, more with paintings adorning at least one wall, most with bookshelves, and all had potted plants of various sizes, types, and appearance. By the time Louise stepped into a parlor at one corner of the first floor, she had to admit difficulty in taking her seat like an elegant lady and not simply plopping onto the antique chair. Beside her, she noticed her dear cousin's hand had the faintest tremble running through it.

Evidently, Nella had noticed their exhaustion, her laughter trilling out of her as she daintily took her seat at the small tea table. "My, was that all really too much for you? I should have been a better hostess and let you rest. It's just about two days' journey from Alloway to here, isn't it?"

"No, almost a day and a half," Joshua said, introducing a respectful nod to the end of his correction. "It would have been a shame to delay a tour of the castle. It's incredible."

Louise giggled. "It's quite true. It has such a nice atmosphere, and I thought the paintings look very lovely put up in all the rooms rather than shut away in a distant gallery."

"I see what one of your first changes to Castle Reglay will be, dear Louise," Nella teased, laughing merrily as Louise looked down to hide her flaming face. "Oh, I've been looking forward to your visit in weeks! Ever since you expressed interest in coming here, I have to admit that I've given cause for the help to hate me, what with all the scrubbing I've forced on them. But I just couldn't help myself, not when Catherine's daughter was going to come visit me!"

"Aunt Catherine means a lot to you, then," Joshua commented. To this, Nella nodded.

"Many people say this as an exaggeration, but for me it is entirely true that, were it not for her, I would not be sitting here with you now."

"Truly?" Louise could not help but ask, her eyes wide to hear such a bold claim.

Nella nodded. "True, true, all of it true." Smiling faintly, she shook her head. "But such talk is for later. Why don't you tell me about your journey while tea is served? You'll need the energy for when you see the children. They're all wound up more than usual to have young visitors come here for once. I dare say my two eldest are already halfway in love with Mister Émile here." Nella winked at Joshua, who smiled at this.

"That's until they actually see me, the poor girls."

Louise stared at her cousin, who was every bit as handsome and as charming as any girl would require. With such shining looks and personality, he belied his August birth and the darkness therein with nary but a smile. "How can you say that? Even Mother says that you're easy to fall for."

To this, he looked at her out of the corner of his eye. "Not all women think that."

In an instant she remembered Celia, who only sought marriage of the soul as provided by the convent, and looked away. "Mm, perhaps," she mumbled.

"What a shame," Nella said, her voice full of sympathy, "but to hear dear Louise tell it, no one could compare with Lord Pent. There are many other women in Etruria who would love you in an instant, so don't fret."

Louise blinked, her face warming at a rapid beat. _Do I really talk about Lord Pent that way to other people?_ she couldn't help but wonder. She heard her cousin say, "No, actually, Louise is great, but I'm seeking someone else right now."

"Oh, is that what it was? I'm sorry." Grinning with an almost childish mischievousness, Nella fluttered her hand just so. "Then Louise is free to moon over her beloved lord, I see."

"I-I don't..._do_ that," Louise stammered, well and truly embarrassed now. "I just--that is...Lord Pent _is_ wonderful, so..." But Nella's peal of laughter halted her words better than anything else could have, and so Louise sat and fought the urge to clarify her feelings any further. Her cousin could hold conversation over tea with more natural skill than she had ever learned over months of practice with the Reglay noblewomen, and so it was enough for her to wet her tongue with the fragrant tea and try a few tea cakes and scones to temper her hunger while listening to the chatter as the topic of conversation ranged from food to Joshua's former life to the children of House Caerleon and all their myriad habits and eccentricities. It was only when tea was dwindling down that a maid came into the room bearing a note for Nella, who opened it and read a few lines before smiling widely.

"Ah, that man of mine." Looking up, the woman's deep green eyes lit up with love and happiness. "My lord husband regrets that he cannot have tea or join us for any activities during the afternoon, but he'll be looking forward to meeting the two of you before dinner."

Nodding, Louise said, "I'll be looking forward to that very much, Nella."

"Yes, I'm quite pleased to hear that." Rising to her feet, the woman called Countess Caerleon seemed every bit as powerful as a highborn noblewoman ought to be, aglow with the same pleasant qualities that drew Louise to her during their first meeting over a year ago. "Shall we meet the children now?"

The children were upstairs in a large playroom, situated just so to receive as much light as possible. Inside were toys and dolls and, unsurprisingly, books that looked no less complicated than the sort Louise's mother so liked to read. There was also a nurse there cradling the youngest of the children, still some months before his first birthday, while watching the ongoings of the room with a steely gaze that did not bend easily, not even when Nella all but fluttered into the room. "Children! Let's properly greet our guests!" she announced with a clap of her hands, and in response the four of them, having been sprawled on the floor or sitting in chairs and perusing old storybooks, quickly lined themselves up from what Louise guessed was oldest to youngest.

"She's got a way, doesn't she?" Joshua murmured into Louise's ear, and she had to hide her giggle behind her hand.

"All right now, let's start the introductions, just as I taught you." Gesturing towards Louise and Joshua, Nella gave an encouraging nod to the eldest, a willow-slender girl. "Estelle, go on, show your siblings how it's done."

Louise turned an admiring eye towards the girl now approaching them; Estelle had a long gait that bespoke of a body accustomed to great feats of athleticism, but her well-groomed waves of auburn-brown hair and healthy pink face revealed her to be a different sort of tomboy than Louise had been at that age--or either Nella or the nurse's excellent ability to get the House Caerleon children set up properly for the guests. Curtsying, Estelle greeted them with a bubbly, "I'm so honored to meet the future Countess Reglay. I'm Estelle Isaant, Count Caerleon's firstborn daughter. Lady Louise, is it true you practice archery?"

"It is," Louise answered with a smile. "Do you as well?"

Estelle's cheeks turned even pinker. "N-not as much, no. I like horseback riding. Um." She glanced at Joshua, then bit her bottom lip. "Mister Émile...do you also like horses?"

Joshua smiled. "I do, Lady Estelle."

"W-would you then, if it's not a bother...like to ride with me--all of us later?"

"I'd like that very much."

"Ehehe...I'm glad. Let's all be good friends, then." With those words, Estelle moved back to the line; Joshua threw Louise a look of amusement that had her returning it with a giggle--though she was not much older than the eldest Isaant, she could well remember the days when she felt quite happy to be treated as an adult at the public soirees in Alloway.

Mamie, the second child, had a smile sweetened by her shy demeanor, her rich dark red hair tied into an elegant Etruscan braid. "Hi, I'm Mamie," she said towards their feet.

"Hello, Mamie," Louise said, echoed not a moment later by her cousin. This had the effect of causing the dear little girl's head to raise enough for her hazel-green eyes to be seen, then she grinned before scurrying back to to the line and clutching her elder sister's hand. Louise could hear Joshua chuckle lowly at the sight and she couldn't help but wonder if he was remembering similar times with his brothers.

Then it was time for the third daughter, who Louise remembered to be the adopted Priscilla. She clearly seemed uncomfortable in ways not shared by either of her sisters; though she had a very similar coloring to the rest of the family, her awkwardness and discomfort with even approaching them for her introduction revealed the difference of her birth. To this, Louise wondered if the little girl had not been happy in her prior life. The girl was twisting a ring on her finger when she was finally coaxed forward by Nella. "My name is Priscilla...Priscilla of House Cornwell," she mumbled.

"It's House Caerleon, silly," Estelle called from her place. Priscilla twisted around, gripping the ring in her hands.

"No, that's wrong. You're _not_ my family. I already have a brother and he's kind and wonderful and better than you!"

"If he's so wonderful, why isn't he here with you?" Estelle retorted. At these words, Priscilla began to cry.

"All right, that's enough!" Nella yelled, bending down to take a hold of Priscilla by the shoulders. "Priscilla...oh, Priscilla, here, why don't you go back to your room and read that fairytale collection your family sent for your birthday? Didn't your brother also write something very nice for you in there? Come on, Annie will take you there." After taking the baby from the nurse's arms, Nella watched in silence as the nurse took Priscilla out of the room. When they had gone, Nella glared at Estelle. "Young lady, I've told you time and time again to treat your sister better than that. You're not showing me that you deserve to go horseback riding today."

"But Auntie, did you just hear her? She doesn't think of me as her sister! She doesn't even like any of us!" Estelle crossed her arms. "You never punish her whenever she does anything bad, but if we tell the truth then we get in trouble. It's not fair."

"It's _not_," Mamie ventured from behind her sister.

"I wanna do my introduction!" yelled the little boy-heir of House Caerleon. Nella just rolled her eyes.

"Estelle, we'll talk about this later, when we don't have guests. Natey, go make your introductions."

The little boy ran up to Louise. "Hi!"

A little startled, Louise smiled. "Hello." In response, he held out his arms, frowning when it took Louise more than a moment to understand what he wanted. "Oh, do you want a hug? I'm so sorry!" She embraced him heartily, her heart trembling in that sentimental way every time she encountered young children. Madame Amy's sons were especially adorable--how she would've have liked a younger sibling like this, to cuddle whenever she wanted!

"Okay, Natey, time to let go of her," Nella said. "Your little brother wants some of her attention, too. Louise, I'd like you to meet Arthur, the newest member of our little family." Holding out the baby in her arms, Nella smiled as Louise managed to detach herself from Natey. "Come on, hold your arms out."

The sensation of holding a baby, delicate and soft and helpless, always, _always_ shook something inside of Louise. There was, of course, that fierce desire to protect what lay in her arms, but then there was also a sort of peace she had never known from anything else, not even from shooting arrows on a nice spring day. This was something instinctual, almost frightening to her...and yet so incredible at the same time. It was as if she was on the cusp of something immense, something just there at the edge of her sixteen years.

Someday...what kind of mother would she be? It seemed so far beyond her, and yet...

-0-

"Thank you for staying behind with me," Nella said after the children and Joshua had left to ride horses along the trails around the castle. "I have so wanted to talk privately to you beyond the hindrance of mere written words."

"I've wanted the same for so long as well," Louise replied, truly touched by Nella's expression of their shared feelings. She could not help but blush when the older woman took her by the hand; the softness of Nella's hands were so different when juxtaposed with the years of archery experience that marked her own hands with a coarseness derided so often by the Reglay noblewomen, but Nella did not even flinch or show any sign that she was dismayed by Louise's unladylike hobbies. To be taken by the hand like this appealed to Louise's nature, always curious to see where she would be lead by others along the greater path that was her life, which made her happy to follow her family friend out of the room and down the hallway. Presently they arrived in a large gallery well-lighted by large Etruscan windows, an anomaly for an ancient keep like Caerleon Castle.

"Many of these paintings are of the recent generation," Nella explained as she led Louise past some of the displayed portraits. "My lord husband is greatly fond of all types of art and many painters enjoy his patronage. I'd say you can see the children growing up from one picture to another, he has them pose so often."

"And yourself, Nella?" Louise ventured to ask, struck by something strangely sad in her glimpse of Nella's profile. At her question, Nella smirked.

"I am not a child--I am a mother, after all." She huffed a sigh and turned her head just so, concealing her expression from Louise's gaze. "But I was a child when I met him."

"Mm...you've mentioned once that Count Caerleon was your sister's husband before..."

There was no response to Louise's diminishing question, and she quieted before long as Nella stood before a tall portrait of two women. One was easy to discover her identity: it was Nella herself, no more older than Louise at that very moment, with a slightly slimmer figure but the same voluptuousness and enjoyment of life present in her mischievous smile. The other was tall, slender, and with hair not half as red as Nella's; she was a pale brunette to whom the eldest Isaant daughter held a startling resemblance. The mystery of this woman's identity was easily answered by the plaque below the picture stating thus: 'Two Stars: Portrait of the Daughters of Viscount Holsett; Nanette 'Nanna' Isabel Isaant, Countess Caerleon, and Penelope 'Nella' Belle Ospré.'

Louise stared at the sisters' clasped hands and imagined that the sisterly bonds that were so visible in that piece of art still bound Nella to her sister even in death. It must be so; family ties could not be cut so easily, not between herself and her parents, not between herself and Celia. The heart does not let go so easily, it would not surrender so long as vital blood still flowed and forced it to beat.

Love was not a thing so easily vanquished. She knew this was so.

"She was so much more than a sister to me. Our mother did not hold strong feelings towards the children she bore, so Nanna was mother to us all despite the fact that she was the second of the four of us." Nella smiled, her eyelids half-lowered with what Louise believed was the weight of reminiscence. "My brothers were fond of her, but society places so many barriers between the world of men and the world of women, so in essence she became my Nanna. When she caught the eye of the second son of Count Caerleon, I was so jealous I couldn't even bear to speak to her for days!"

With a gesture, a simple curling of the index finger, Louise was bound to follow Nella through the thread of the older woman's memories as they moved from the portrait of the two sisters to one of Lady Nanna and a man Louise had not met, but knew instantly as the current Count Caerleon. Lady Nanna sat in a chair while her husband stood beside her, the two together the very image of self-assured nobility; she was slender and delicate, he broad-shouldered and stoic. It made her wonder, if only briefly, what sort of picture she would make with Lord Pent, but she forced herself not to go down a path she would not easily stray from once undertaken. Instead, she looked at the plaque of this new picture, which stated that the two were 'Lord Nicholas Arthur Isaant, Count Caerleon, and Lady Nanette Isabel Isaant, Countess Caerleon.'

"He has two names!" Louise gasped, her eyes wide with surprise. It was only natural; double names belonged to the realm of women, the first their own and the second an adaption of their mother's, and it had always been so among the whole nobility of Etruria since before The Scouring. Beside her, Nella nodded, a solemnity to her face that drained it of the life that so often gave her the vivacity of a room full of happy children.

"Nicholas is his Eliminean name; the second belongs to his older brother, who died in a hunting accident." Nella sighed. "My lord husband had been courting my sister at the time and the loss of his beloved brother nearly ended him as well. Were it not for my sister's delicate sympathies, of which she had never lacked, he too would have been lost."

"...Oh," Louise murmured, her fingers reaching towards her lips as she imagined how absolutely heartbroken Count Caerleon must have felt. "How...how did they meet?"

Nella brightened, if only slightly. "They were both _literati_ along with your mother. Even today my lord husband is still part of the Hôtel de Rhubarbe. He's fond of epic poetry and is a leading poet of the Neo-Classical tradition." With a soft sigh, she glanced away from Louise. "Your mother taught me how to appeal to someone of that nature."

"Then that's why you said it was all because of Mother..." Louise realized aloud.

"Yes. Though at the time I thought my main desire was to be a mother to my sister's children, perhaps it is the way of children for their true intentions to be obvious to adults, even when they do not know what they really want." Chuckling, Nella gazed at Louise, a strange glimmer in her olive green eyes that made Louise feel oddly guilty. "But you know what you want, isn't that right?"

A swift, sudden sense of pride caused Louise to straighten up, to look her friend in the eye as she said, "I like to think I do."

"What do you want?"

_Lord Pent's happiness_, she almost said, but having no contact with him deadened the impulse with a numbing fear she dared not acknowledge in full. Instead, she admitted the other truth. "I would like to meet with your husband. I would like his support."

Nella appeared lost for a moment, as if she had expected a different answer from Louise. "You're honest, aren't you?" she commented, a strange undertone to her voice. "Even your mother dissembles sometimes in her letters. I...think that is very strange for a woman, but I can appreciate that. My lord husband hasn't much to say about the Reglay affair, but he would at least hear you out."

Though her neck felt a bit stiff, Louise nodded. "That is all I need."

"You're that confident, then?"

"It isn't about confidence," Louise admitted, "only that this is all I can do."

_Because I cannot fail him any longer. If I do...will he disappear completely?_

-0-

A truth regarding Lord Nicholas, Count Caerleon: He was very tall and quite broad about the shoulders and chest, with a head full of auburn hair and a neatly trimmed beard, but these attributes, all intimidating when taken at once, were softened by his obvious love for his children. As he held baby Arthur, he in turn addressed Estelle's desire to extend her riding lessons with questions on what sort of horse she would like next, encouraged Mamie with gentle words on her burgeoning writing ability, laughed as Natey tried to clamber onto him in order to sit upon his shoulders, and tried to draw in Priscilla by mentioning a letter he intended to write to her birth parents, though her reticence was deepened by the sadness that seemed her normal expression. Or, as Joshua muttered underneath his breath as he and Louise took in the scene of familial bliss, "Being a parent looks really tiring."

"But isn't it wonderful to have such a big family?" Louise asked, dazzled by the whole affair. What fun it must be to have so many siblings! She was not daunted from this belief even when her cousin quickly shook his head.

"Not when your parents forget you in Pherae because your older brother accidentally shot a knight and your younger brother cries over _everything_."

"Isaac didn't seem that way to me," protested Louise. Joshua shrugged.

"He's gotten a little tougher since those days. The point is, at least you had your parents focusing on you all the time."

His assertion was uncomfortable for her to accept, as it felt like a grievous error to accept such a thing with Lord Pent's past at least partially known to her, but she allowed it to pass without comment. She could only allow herself to think about her upcoming appointment with Count Caerleon, nervous energy running through her nerves all throughout the lavish dinner set before them; though she counted Uncle Aramis as family and had occasion to dine with Lord Pent, Count Caerleon was too unknown for her to properly relax.

Would he listen to her? Would he agree with her request? Did it truly matter to him what went on in another county?

"Dear, Louise would like to speak with you regarding a matter."

Wouldn't it? They were all Etrurian in the end, so...

"Of course, Penelope. You're quite fond of her, I've noticed."

Yet, who had she convinced up until now? Certainly none of the Reglay noblewomen she had tried to befriend had cared for her words.

"That's only natural for Catherine's daughter. Come, let's go to the parlor for some privacy."

With a mind more embroiled within its own anxieties, Louise listened with half an ear as she followed the couple to a room similar to her home's breakfast room, which doubled as a tea parlor for when the weather was too poor to go out onto the veranda. Clinging to the familiarity of the place relieved her somewhat, though it seemed a paltry amount as she sat down across from Count Caerleon and found that he did not listen with an encouraging smile on his face, but rather affixed an intense stare that held neither friendliness nor gentility--a lordly face.

"Now, Miss..." He blinked, but otherwise his face did not alter itself as he corrected himself. "Mademoiselle Louise, what can I do for you?"

"I--" And her voice was so high on that single word that she could not help the heat that scorched her cheeks in response. "Umm...are you aware of what is happening in Reglay County?"

HIs brow creased. "I am. The trial for the new claimant is within two weeks, correct?"

"Y-yes! And that's why I'm here..." Taking a deep breath, Louise said as clearly as she could, "I'm here to request you come to the trial to support Lord Pent's case."

It was here when the first hint of the kindness she had witnessed throughout their meeting and dinner reasserted itself on his stern face. "But I am not from Reglay," he said with a certain gentleness that made her stomach twist in despair.

"It...but you are..." Louise swallowed, though her throat wanted water. "You are, you hold the same title as Lord Pent. You understand the role and the regulations that surround a count's noble house, so perhaps you could speak of it..."

"House Reglay's steward and clerks would know that information just as well as myself, as well as the king."

"Yes, that's so...but perhaps you could do--say something..." But even as she said these words, she watched Count Caerleon's face seem to close itself emotionally from her arguments. From her husband's side, Nella lowered her eyes and Louise knew she would receive no help from that quarter.

No help anywhere...no one wanted to help...

Count Caerleon cleared his throat. "Miss, I admire your devotion to your betrothed's interests, but I think you now understand that I cannot help--"

"I don't understand!" These words, the truth of her frustration as Louise knew it, burst forth from her as easily as she could breathe. A small part of her shrunk at her incredible rudeness, wished to apologize and remove herself from this incident as quickly as possible, but the greater part of her rose strong and unflinching in the sum total of her pain, her stress, her sadness, and her anger at a world that seemed to want nothing more than to watch with glee as Lord Pent was degraded over and over. "You were privy to Lord Pent's honest wish to improve Reglay for all, not just the nobility. You are in a position to understand that Lord Pent wants nothing more than to become a great leader for his county, and for Etruria as a whole. What would it cost you to stand before the King's Court and tell this truth?"

Nella stood, great consternation marring her pretty features. "Louise, please--"

"Penelope, it's fine," Count Caerleon said. "It's only understandable that the girl would be upset. She's simply too young to be fully aware of the repercussions that exist."

Very quietly, in a voice unfamiliar to Louise's own ears, she told Count Caerleon, "My lord, you are a coward."

"Louise!" Nella scolded. "I think you should leave and think about what you just..." She stopped and looked down, where Count Caerleon's hand encircled one of her wrists. "Lord Nicholas?"

"A coward?" he said with a deliberate enunciation that hovered on the juncture between confusion and anger, his stare boring into Louise's eyes. She stared back, beyond fear, beyond shame, beyond everything but the truth that lay within her heart.

"Yes, my lord. Anyone who holds the key of truth and honesty and thinks its weight upon his soul is lesser than human judgment is a coward. I truly believe this."

"Scripture?"

Pursing her lips, Louise shook her head minutely. "Yes, but it was confirmed to me through Lord Pent's actions. Time and time again he could have shirked his duty, his responsibilities to the people and himself, but he stood firm and accepted them. Though he hated it, he never gave up. He is--" But that was too painful, too unsure to admit, and she would never believe that he was _gone_, and so she held twin fists at her sides and smiled down Count Caerleon and Nella and pretended that her eyes did not ache with the welling of emotion. "Lord Pent is wonderful," she admitted. "Please speak for him. Please."

Count Caerleon looked away from her. "To hear you say it, though he is only half my age, I have only half his heart. Perhaps I was too hasty in my decision. I will reconsider it."

Though tears fell from Louise's eyes as her smile widened, they were her victory. Everything she was in that moment, these things were a monument to the great and good emotions that blossomed within her heart.

Finally..._finally_.

-0-

After a day of much-needed recuperation at home, Louise traveled up the road to Alloway Castle. It was unnecessary to bring a companion with her; she had been riding to the castle by herself since she learned to control a horse, and as such she was very nearly a fixture there. Due to her duties in Reglay she had much neglected her dear uncle, and so she brought with her five baskets of fresh apple-cinnamon muffins for the castle to enjoy. Marion did not complain when Louise had strapped the food to the sides of the saddle, but she refused to move any faster than a brisk trot. With the spring breeze running through her hair with all the tenderness of Celia's fingers, Louise took every pleasure in the leisurely ride, and within half an hour had arrived at the gate to the small castle her uncle called home.

"Mademoiselle Louise, you've finally remembered us!" said Pascal, one of the junior knights who often stood guard at the front gate. Louise waved before she dismounted from Marion, delighted to hear the lilting tones of the Etruscan language as the young man spoke it; Etruscan was the primary language of the castle not by edict but rather by a silent consensus to cling to whatever remnants of the old culture that remained. As Louise learned from her history lessons, many centuries ago the Etruscan people rose up against the king in retaliation for his favoritism of Tower Elimineanism and its followers, many of whom who were financially backing the crown in return for his support. The revolt failed, and the king installed a series of edicts meant to shame the Etruscans and strip them of their culture: Lighter Elimineanism was considered an unholy cult and its practitioners fined and imprisoned; they were forbidden from speaking their native language; the original names of Alloway and Utica Counties, Capet and Valois, were stripped and new ones of the common tongue stamped in their place; their trueborn count's noble house was deposed and an agent of the king sent to govern the region. All these cruelties did not diminish the Etruscan spirit, and less than a century after all these laws had been imposed all but the names of the counties had been removed.

To Louise's mind, this meant that all that was right and good would eventually be restored, no matter what evils were sent against it. This was a basic fact of the world, from The Scouring to the Etruscan Regulation to all cruelties great and small--they will not stand.

Buffered by this thought--this essential truth--Louise gathered her baskets of food, remembering to free a muffin for Pascal. "Sir Pascal, please have one," she offered. The young knight looked at the muffin, then at the castle.

"You'll offer one to the commander, won't you?"

Louise giggled. "That goes without saying. Uncle Luca has such a sweet tooth!"

Sighing in relief, Pascal took the muffin. "The saint keep you! I haven't had a taste of Ellie's treats for so long I'm afraid I've forgotten the taste!" After taking the first bite he smiled in a dreamy fashion as he chewed.

"Actually," Louise started, smiling widely, "I was the one who made them this time."

Pascal stared at her for a long moment, then struggled to swallow. "That's true? Really?" He groaned. "Why do you have to go to Reglay to be some count's wife? Why can't you be our Louise forever?"

She tittered at this, knowing that a blush would soon come to her cheeks if the conversation continued any further. "But it's fine if I visit often, I think. I'll bring lots of food every time!"

"But it's not really the same..."

No, Louise realized, it really wasn't. But all she could do was smile and take her leave, because in the end that was what she would be doing towards the whole of Alloway--to her family, her friends, her home. And yet, that would be better than the strange anxiety coursing through her body more and more with each passing day that she heard nothing from Lord Pent.

She pursed her lips and, determined not to think any more about such pessimistic things, went to deliver the goods she had brought. It did not take long to reach the kitchen; Alloway Castle was a small keep when compared to feats such as Castles Reglay or Caerleon, a home and fortress in miniature compared to the latter establishments of might and force. But, for all the times that she was awed whenever she wandered through Reglay Castle, it could not match the calming, homey atmosphere of Alloway's castle. This might have been because of the warm Etruscan spirit borne by the maids, knights, and other attendants who worked and lived inside the environs, or the fact that it had once been a monastery donated to House Capet after they had been removed from power and nearly exiled from their ancestral lands. Whatever it was, Louise so loved it and its airy stone walls and wide glass windows. And the kitchens...!

"Ah, Uncle Luca!" she exclaimed when she found the knight commander of Alloway County in the large sunlit kitchen making a pot of tea. He tilted his head in a reflex of welcoming, his dark eyes warm with pleasure.

"Welcome home, Louise Katharina."

Louise smiled at his greeting. Uncle Luca was originally from Missur, from a particular people whose women ruled the community as the men were often out on the sea as merchants, fishermen, and divers most of the year. His family name, Luseria, was his mother's given name, as lineages were traced through the women and thus only the women in his family held the true family name. Because of his upbringing, he had a tendency to refer to women by their first two names, as it was a familiar practice to him. Even her own mother tolerated it, although Louise always noticed how her mother would flinch whenever she was referred to as 'Catherine Jane.' Louise wasn't sure why; perhaps her mother disliked the diminutive of Grandmother's name?

"Uncle Luca, I've brought your favorite," Louise said, indicating the baskets of food in her hands.

"You're the same as usual," he said as he approached her, taking the baskets without further preamble. "They will be distributed to the maids."

"Not the knights?"

"Please. Their horses would suffer, what with all the snacking that already goes on."

She thought of Pascal and smiled. "I do hope you'll let them try. I made these myself for everyone."

"I see. Then I too will have one." Plucking a muffin from a basket, Uncle Luca very delicately took a bite. The sight of the happiness he bore in that single moment, so evident even on his austere features, was enough to cause Louise to break out into giggles. He only raised an eyebrow at her reaction. "Are you here to see Lord Aramis?"

"Yes, there's something I have to ask of him," she said. With a nod, Uncle Luca took a tray for the pot of tea, as well as three cups, before walking towards the door. Louise fell in step just behind him, one of her baskets of muffins in her hand, as she studied his back. As expected of a knight commander, the man before her was always intimidating in armor and usually so out of it, yet Louise was sure she had never met a more polite, chivalrous man. His relative lack of expression did not mar his even, handsome face, and his complete and overriding desire to follow the word of his lord to the letter was borne out of something more than simple obedience--Uncle Luca's faith in the goodness of Uncle Aramis was absolute.

Admiration warmed her face--there were so many wonderful people in her life that she knew she never wanted for moral inspiration. What a lovely thing it was to live! When Lord Pent returned, she was determined to devote herself into being a person he could depend on, just as she was doing right now. Every effort she could muster she would expend for him, and then everything would be fine.

Everything would be fine.

Uncle Aramis was in his office working on paperwork when they arrived; Louise could just about hear Lord Pent complaining about the constant paperwork he had dealt with in Reglay and the resulting flood of nostalgia nearly overtook her. She smiled and kept the facade as she placed the basket onto the desk, addressing her uncle with a happy, brittle voice thus: "Hello, Uncle! I've made these for you, so please enjoy them!"

"...Well, thank you." His lacking tone was no surprise; Uncle Aramis only begrudgingly ate sweets of any sort and usually only at the behest of either herself or Uncle Luca. "I must admit I was expecting you sooner."

"Sooner today?" Louise asked, surprised. The room was bright with the noonday sun as Uncle Luca busied himself with the tea, obviously not in want of any light.

"Sooner than today," Uncle Aramis stated. "But you were so busy in Caerleon that I should not have been surprised."

Louise stilled, pressing her hands together. His tone was not unlike the one he used for her mother, the two having a mutual dislike for each other. "H-have I done something to displease you, Uncle?"

Uncle Aramis said not a word for a long moment, as if he had not heard her question. After he sat down, Uncle Luca interceded with, "Why not tell her, milord? She would appreciate hearing your feelings."

After sending Uncle Luca a dark glare, Uncle Aramis turned an annoyed look upon Louise, who flinched to see it. "Why ask for Count Caerleon's help before mine?"

"I...since I was invited to visit--"

"But you live just down the road from here. Or is the distance too little for you to overcome now that you've conquered both Reglay and Caerleon?"

She pressed her fists onto her lap after she sat down, her shoulders hunched as she thought desperately on why her normally kind uncle was now so surly. "Why do you know about this?" she asked.

"Your father and cousin visited yesterday and saw fit to tell me about the whole episode," Uncle Aramis said with a scowl. "Of all the nobility that range through Etruria like fattened cows, why did it have to be that oversatisfied moron of a bull?"

Louise could only stare at her dear uncle and wonder at his sudden hostility until Uncle Luca shook his head. "Once, Count Caerleon made a disparaging remark towards him, which started an unpleasant series of rumors about Lord Aramis that persists to this day. Since then, he has not found it inside himself to forgive the count." Moving his chair closer to Uncle Aramis, Uncle Luca pushed the cup of tea in front of the other man forward. "She had no knowledge of this incident, so it would be best if you did not take it out on her."

As always, curiosity proved to be the stronger over common sense as she asked, "What did Count Caerleon say to you? He seemed too careful of the effect of his words, if anything."

It was silent for some time as some sort of nonverbal communication passed between both her uncles, which was a very common thing for them. Finally, Uncle Luca turned to her. "It was something to do with Lord Aramis' lack of interest in finding a bride, along with his naming his cousin as the heir apparent."

"...Oh?" Confused, Louise shrugged. "What a strange thing to make into an insult. Uncle just hasn't found someone he loves enough to marry."

Uncle Aramis coughed before reaching for his tea. "Something of that nature. That idiot probably thinks we all have a stable of sisters to plunder whenever the last one's been used up."

The horror that coursed through Louise's body was as sudden and overpowering as a bolt of lightning. "Uncle!" she exclaimed. "What a terrible thing to say!"

Uncle Luca turned an expression of displeasure onto the other man. "To make light of such a thing is beyond you, my lord."

"...You're right. I apologize," Uncle Aramis said, flattening his moustache under his thumb and forefinger. "Which is more than he's ever done for _me_..."

"Mm, Uncle, does that mean I shouldn't ask you for help?" Louise questioned, still bothered by his cruel words. "I didn't know that it would offend you so much to ask for Count Caerleon's help first."

Uncle Aramis let his hand drop from his face, the tip of his finger following the lip of the teacup in slow, mesmerizing circles. "It is true you couldn't have known, but I would have thought my niece would have looked to me first if she wanted someone to stand for her and her own. To be trumped by a man like Count Caerleon, who I was told had no interest in helping you at first, is not something I could ever take lightly."

"It's because..." Louise closed her eyes. "All I have ever done in Reglay is fail. In the end, though I tried my hardest to convince even one person to believe in Lord Pent, I still..." She covered her face with her hands, willing herself to breath normally. "Uncle, you would have always supported me. I've always known that. I, perhaps I...I wanted a small victory first, just a reason to believe that I...I was, I would..."

_That__ I had some small ability to do good for Lord Pent's sake. That, in the end, I wasn't useless--_

"Louise."

She lowered her hands, mindful of the fact that she could no more hide her emotions from a man who had known her since she was born any more than she could have hid them from her own father. Her uncle had never revealed the same range of expressions as her beloved father did, including sympathy or sincere affection, but at the moment he was looking at her as if she were an equal and that made all the difference. "Yes, Uncle?"

"We're humans. We're meant to fail."

Blinking, she stared at him. "But--"

"Shh. Have you met anyone in your short sixteen years of life who was perfect? Do you think there is anything of the sort that exists in this world? It may be sacrilege to say this, but not even the holy saint was perfect. She even says as much within the Good Book. All we can do as humans is what God and Saint Elimine expect us to do, is to live following the examples of goodness around us." Uncle Aramis ran a hand through his blond hair, stray strands of which loosened from the oil he used in it and fell across his forehead. "You never failed, you only grew up. I won't hear another word otherwise, not from my best friend's cherished daughter."

She didn't understand, not in the way she thought he wanted her to understand, but she knew she would always remember his words. She would use them as a buffer in the dark of the night, when her thoughts most liked to turn against her, and the fact that she now had a shield with which to defend herself made her smile in relief. "Uncle, then will you go to the trial and speak for Lord Pent?"

Uncle Aramis smirked. "It is a matter that concerns every count in the kingdom. I'm sure even Caerleon's understands that much if he wants to protect his title for his trueborn children and not some distant relative." His gaze flickered to Uncle Luca, who was always attentive and had already anticipated that he would be addressed; Louise could tell that much just by the minuscule way he had tensed. "Well, Luca? It's been some time since we've come to Aquleia."

"Yes. I would be honored to follow you wherever you will, milord."

Louise could feel tender emotions curl within her, a pleasant sensation borne from seeing the utter devotion that passed between Uncle Luca and Uncle Aramis. It spoke to her how necessary faith and devotion were, not only for the relationship between man and God, but between people--between each other. They were some of the most important components of love that ever existed.

She would have faith that Lord Pent will return soon.

-0-

"Lady Louise, your eye for embroidery has become much better," Celia said from behind Louise's chair. Louise started a bit, then giggled in relief as she looked over her shoulder to find Celia's slender form close to her.

"Do you like it? This one is for Mother's birthday, but I can make you one just like it if you like."

"Could you? Though, not as complex. I just like how the colors of the cornucopia run together."

Louise peered at her latest work-in-progress, a little perturbed. "It's no good if the colors run together, is it?" Celia laughed at this as she placed one hand on Louise's shoulder, leaning in to point out one of the fruits spilling out of the great horn.

"It's fine, it's fine. As long as one can make out the shape it should be fine. And I like the little violets in each corner. Your lady mother would--"

There was the sound of a multitude of footsteps quickly approaching the little parlor where Louise had chosen to work before archery practice in the afternoon, preferring greatly how much the room captured the most amount of sunlight out of all the rooms in the house from late morning to just after lunch. Both she and Celia turned towards the doorway just in time to see her mother, father, and Uncle Aramis enter the room; Louise's mother looked annoyed, her father confused, and Uncle Aramis...

Louise stood, placing her embroidery on the nearby tea table. "Uncle? Have you just returned from the trial?"

"Is that what this is about? Why do you need to herd us in like common farm animals?" her mother bit out; patience had never been her strong point, and Louise could understand why. At the current moment, she too could not claim she bore any of the saintly trait.

Her father looked as if he were considering something. "Was the lordling stripped of his title, then?"

Louise could not help her gasp, standing still as Celia's arms wound around her waist. Her mother glanced at her, a flicker of something strange in her solemn expression, before turning back to Uncle Aramis. "Out with it already," her mother snapped. "I don't appreciate a flair for dramatics when it worries my daughter so."

"I haven't even said anything," Uncle Aramis retorted, the grooves of his brow deep and pronounced as he began to pace. "The trial...the king was not willing to remove the boy's title, but..."

"Aramis?" her father voiced, a timbre of something dark and fragile in his voice that Louise could not bear, not even with her hands clenched together so tightly that she was certain her bones were about to give before long.

Uncle Aramis stopped his nervous movements in favor of looking directly at Louise; this was not an improvement. "The knight general testified."

"The knight...Alfred?" Her mother affixed a dangerous glare upon Uncle Aramis. "What do you mean that man was there? What does he have to do with any of this?"

"He was your former fiancé, I remember," Uncle Aramis said. "Well, he was the general overseeing the unit Reglay's count was in. It's...there was an attack, and there were no survivors. The reason it took so long for all this to get out was because they'd only recently recovered...the boy's remains."

_Lord Pent...dead?_ Louise closed her eyes. Her body did not feel any different, its essential reactions still the same. _It doesn't feel like he's dead._

She could feel Celia's arms tighten around her, her sweet friend whispering, "Oh God, oh Saint Elimine," over and over, but it didn't feel like Lord Pent was dead. She could see her parents and her uncle staring at her, all of them bearing the same tension as if they expected something from her, but it didn't feel like Lord Pent was dead. There was nothing in the world that was fundamentally altered, therefore Lord Pent was not dead.

Louise smiled, relieved to know the truth. "No, that's not true. Lord Pent is alive."

They were all looking at her in weird ways and she did not like any of them. Her mother was the first to speak, as always. "Dear...Louise, that man, the knight general...he is the type to destroy anyone simply for doing something he didn't like. He was the one at that party long ago, the man that I argued with. You have to understand that, because he hated me. He had the means to...oh, God." Her mother covered her mouth with one hand as she leaned towards Louise's father. "That was how much he...he must have been waiting all these years to destroy what I had built for myself...my family's happiness..."

"Catherine, don't do this," Louise's father said as he held her mother. When he looked at Louise, she dimly noted the muted helplessness in his eyes, in the parted lips, in the way he lowered his head as if he were ashamed. "Louise, are you..."

She began to shake her head. "Stop that," she said, her voice weak, soft. "Why is everyone...Uncle, this joke of yours is too cruel. Tell them the truth. Uncle, please."

But Uncle Aramis' head was bowed, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. She had seen him do that once before, when one of his knights had been killed in an accident. He had done that the entire time at the funeral.

Dead. Lord Pent couldn't be...he _wasn't_...

No.

"No," Louise repeated, shaking her head. Her whole body was shaking. "It's not true."

Celia's arms were so tight around her that she felt as though she were bound to this position, unable to do anything more than shake. That wasn't enough to make it not true, so although it pained her she pushed her dear friend away because she had to prove to everyone that Lord Pent wasn't dead, she'd prove it right now and then her parents would stop looking at her with almost palpable pity, her mother would not look so distraught and her father wouldn't look as though he couldn't do anything and Uncle Aramis would just look up... "So I'll prove it," she heard herself saying outside of her mind, "I'll prove to everyone that Lord Pent is alive because he is alive, he really is, he's not dead he's not dead I know he's not dead please stop looking at me like that..." and then it hurt to talk and it hurt to stand and it hurt to breathe and why would everything hurt so much if Lord Pent was alive?

But Lord Pent is alive, she tried to say but couldn't as she was pressed against warm bodies holding her and stroking her hair and telling her that everything would be all right, it was all right to cry it was all right and everything would be fine Louise but why would they lie to her like that if Lord Pent was dead?

All she wanted was silence to think, but there was someone crying so loudly that all the thoughts she had were banished from her head as everything hurt.

Everything hurt, and Louise knew that she wouldn't hurt this much if everything was all right.

-end-

I don't really know why this story is as long as it is, but it is. And to compound that, I've got plenty of notes! Before I get to that, I would like to thank everyone for their kind birthday wishes and for continuing to read this series up to this point. The next story should be out 5/31, but I can't promise anything due to two-week long finals, greater work hours, and illness.

Caerleon: The interesting tidbit I discovered while randomly Googling is that the name belongs to a fortress connected to King Arthur. That sounded pretty cool to me, so that's why the name figures so prominently among the males of House Caerleon. Reglay, in a rarity for the FE series, doesn't seem to have a real-world historical or regional basis.

Kids can be so cruel: I'm thinking that initially Estelle and Mamie were really happy to have another sister, but Priscilla was distraught about being separated from Raven and thwarted their every kindness until eventually they gave up and acted out against her instead. As a result of this, I don't think Priscilla gets along with other girls--she doesn't support any in-game.

Holsett, Nanna: A couple of FE4 references here. Holsety is one of the legendary weapons in that game, and arguably the best one that your side gets; Nanna is a character from the second generation (the game is split between the first and second generations, as its subtitle is Genealogy of the Holy War). Unlike Nella's sister here, FE4/5's Nanna is a blonde.

Knight General of Etruria, Alfred Minart: If you're wondering who this guy is and why he's suddenly our big bad, reread Elegant Arrangements part 2 and then Salad Days and be enlightened.


	23. As If Entangled By Ivy

Bouquet

(C) Intelligent Systems and Nintendo

(Rated T for scenes of violence and mature themes)

-0-

As If Entangled By Ivy: Dogsbane, Cypress and Marigold, Hundred-Leaved Rose, Water Willow  
(_the deception that binds him here is despair itself, and only his dignity of mind can free him_)

Once upon a time, Pent wasn't needed around Reglay and so he was sent to live with his mother's relatives in the northern county of Peranee. Because children have a way of understanding the truth underneath the lies adults give them, he quickly understood that he was not any more welcome here in this cold land than he was in his father's home. Everyone was so kind to him that there was no other conclusion he could come up with; he could plainly see the difference in which he was treated compared to the familial closeness of his mother's brother's children. Everyone kept him at an arm's distance.

"Why?" his child's heart asked plaintively. "Why don't people like me?"

He couldn't understand it. He treated everyone with decency and politeness and with a smile, but everyone seemed to lower their eyes from his expectant gaze and give him few words in response. Things changed after he returned to Reglay and then sent to Aquleia for schooling; people wanted to be around him because of his talents, because he was polite and decent and greeted people with a smile. Yet, sometimes when all is quiet and there isn't anything to worry about, that same childish fear comes to mind: that he isn't really wanted around, that for all his decency and politeness and faint smiles he really doesn't matter at all to the people around him.

Louise said differently, but she is gone now through no fault of her own. He knows that intellectually-and what else does he have if not his intellect?-but sometimes he feels a little annoyed at her all the same. He would like to blame her for being so earnest and wonderful and believable when he didn't think there would ever be anyone as such, but he knows better than to do such a thing. It was never her fault he was such a convenient target.

_Humans really are self-centered_, he thinks at these times and chuckles a little, but the feeling that reverberates in his chest feels a lot like a child's emptiness and he isn't sure what to make of that.

-0-

"No!"

"Ahh! Ahhhgh!"

"Die! Die, you Etruri_arrgh_!"

Pent lowered his hand after the last man fell, smoke still steaming from the dead man's chest. That resistance fighter had been running at him with his axe held high, apparently unconscious of the both the pain and the blood streaming from the gashes laid into him by Kellis' twirling daggers, when Pent had cast the spell that had sent fire streaking through the air and straight into his chest, ending his life. Around Pent, the cries of the battle were still overwhelming in their intensity, and he supposed there was a lot left for him to do before this one ended.

His fingers trembled, but not with the power he had under his command as a mage. No, the awe he once had towards magic as a weapon had died away too many battles ago.

-0-

"What exactly do you mean by that?"

The man sitting across from Pent took a long pull from his polished wood pipe before exhaling a stream of blue-gray smoke into a room already choking with it. Were this Reglay Castle Pent would have stopped the man from pulling out his pipe long ago; here in the Western Isles Lord Absley was one of the original colonizers who had put the men of the country to work in the jewel-rich mines, making a fortune off the backs of honest men. Here, as far away from Etruria as possible while still being part of Etruria's land claim, the minor noble was as a king and Pent knew better than to offend the man, even though his throat ached from all the smoke he'd inhaled throughout the meeting.

Another inhale from the pipe, and with the smoke that gusted out of the minor noble's nostrils and mouth came these words: "Well, Captain, you have to understand. I run a business. Before, when the kingdom was funding their interests here, I would have been delighted to help out our boys, get them all the weapons they need. But now we're providing Etruria with its profits, we fund the kingdom...and, well, I should think that the military could provide for its soldiers more than we're able."

Pent frowned. "We're here to protect your interests. That should mean something to you."

"Yes, well, you do provide a convenient target for those ruffians. However, I do have my own personal guards and they are certainly more prepared than a group of Etrurian criminals masquerading as soldiers."

"We have all been conscripted into the Etrurian army. We are every bit the soldier as any other man, regardless of our freedom when we joined," Pent stated, all the while attempting to remember the noble calm, noble disdain he had once learned to master in order to withstand the other nobles of Reglay County. It had been too long since he last needed it; perhaps he had been too long with normal people. It was becoming too difficult to remember that vital skill though, especially when Lord Absley began waving one fat hand in dismissal.

"All that is beyond me. I've graciously agreed to meet with you, so it really is too bad we couldn't come to an agreement. I can't say that the other Etrurian nobles here would even be so kind..." The minor noble began stroking the thin mustache he had somehow cultivated, perhaps with help from the smoke as it was a rather interesting shade of yellowing white. "Your name was Pent, correct?"

"It is."

"I don't suppose that is a very common name on the mainland."

Pent raised an eyebrow at this, understanding where the other man was going. However, he had done very well up to this point without having to bring attention to his title...if it was still his, which he was beginning to wonder. "There are others with the name, I'm sure. Greater men than myself."

"Hm, it must be so." Lord Absley leaned back in his chair, then gave Pent an odd look. "Well? You're dismissed."

"...Yes, of course." Rising to his feet, Pent took one last look around the office. It was nowhere near as ornate as his office in Castle Reglay, but it did give him a measure of nostalgia to have sat within it, never mind that he was on the wrong side of the desk. "I thank you for your time. Should you come to change your mind, you are aware of our location."

The minor noble scoffed. "Yes, quite so. Good day, Captain."

-0-

"Protect him! Protect the captain!"

"Is he going to be all right, Simon?"

"The welt is worse than it looks, I think...hm? Is he waking up?"

The ache pounding inside Pent's head was still secondary to the rush of nausea swelling in his throat, and he had to admit it was far from his proudest moment in his life when he vomited on someone's boots not even a few moments later.

"_Merde_! I thought you said he was okay!"

"No, that's not what I said. I didn't know he had a concussion, Henri!"

"I-isn't that something he could die from? Can't you heal him?"

"You can't heal concussions with healing magic. Now, I can heal the residual damage to his head, but that isn't everything. All you can do is make sure he doesn't fall asleep."

Pent groaned, eyes squinched shut. "Who could? I was trying to save Benjamin...how is he?"

There was silence, and then the sound of a throat being cleared. "Uh, Captain," said Henri, his accent always familiar because of how similar it was to Louise's father's. "Sorry, but after the enemy knocked you down, he continued to...but Adel did finish your charge and killed the enemy. Are...are you all right, sir?"

Keeping his eyes closed, Pent said, "No...no, I'm not."

-0-

Once the pegasus knights had left there was a strong need to become mobile as a way to prevent more ambushes, although their movement would be limited due to factors such as the logistics of moving sixty-plus men, able-bodied and injured, as well as the fact that there simply weren't many places for them to go. Then Pent realized something as he drew anima magic circle arrays in the dirt, a habit of his when stressed: What if only part of the camp was mobile at any given time? Yes, that would mean there would be more bases to attack, but the satellite camps could serve as an alarm system.

One refinement after another followed, and eventually a better idea took hold: sub-leaders.

Etruria being Etruria, army rankings tended to be very linear within each of the three branches. There was one lieutenant-general for each general, one or two commanders below the lieutenant-general, one or two captains under each commander. In other words, advancement tended to be rare and very contested when an opening became available. Pent had still been attending school when the last great general retired and had the opportunity to witness controlled pandemonium as each of the eligible candidates for the position were supported by various nobles, being nobles themselves. A fistfight even started in his academy over it. When Douglas Jouser, a young commander in the armored knights legion, was named as the new Great General of Etruria in what would be the old king's last real edict before his death, Pent had been sufficiently surprised by the disparaging reaction that he had wondered how the kingdom could have functioned for so long if this was what happened every time a new general was chosen.

Years later, he would believe that a diffusion of power was necessary to prevent the gazes from below to be filled with opportunistic hunger. With that in mind, he selected three of the most trustworthy men who also seemed to have some leadership ability, sectioned off the rest of the men accordingly, and then hoped for the best. Adel in particular had been so pleased that he immediately went to work in making sure the men under his command were battle-ready, if not of knightly caliber.

Pent had almost chosen Nestor to become one of the leaders, but after a few days of observation he noticed how everyone seemed to give him a wide berth that had not been there when Thomas had still been alive. Someone in the darkness of the fog had called Nestor a murderer, and it was apparent that everyone was aware of this fact.

Pent wasn't, and he didn't want to pry. He put Nestor in Adel's group and went to work on fortifying the camp.

-0-

Surveying the scene after the battle, Pent found that everything was satisfactory, or at least as satisfactory as it could be considering that they had been attacked in the first place. The amount of injuries was minimal, which meant that Simon would not be overburdened with the addition of freshly injured soldiers to the ones still recovering in the healing tents. Yes, Pent decided, this was a perfectly acceptable result.

"I'm going to kill you, you stupid bastard!"

Pent turned just in time to see one soldier throw down a broken sword and aim a punch at another man. The solid sound of a fist connecting against the other soldier's face seemed to reach the overcast skies. He didn't realize he was already striding towards them until he realized that the fight was now much closer than it had been before, the scene of both soldiers beating each other taking on a visceral quality that had not been so evident from even thirty paces away. By the time he had reached the combatants, however, others had taken the matter into their own hands and pulled the two away from each other. With the stress that had understandably seeped into the force, Pent could understand the ease with which a fight erupted and was intending to leave well enough alone until the man who had been originally attacked suddenly broke free from the hands that kept him back and rushed his attacker. Being in the way, Pent suffered the blow as it glanced off of his shoulder before he pushed the other man away solely by instinct.

"Calm down!" Pent exclaimed, more out of surprise than pain. The men who had been holding back the soldier before now did it with a vengeance, pulling him away with more force than it entailed for multiple men to exert. Glancing at the both of them, who had been fighting over something as ridiculous as a broken sword, Pent could not help but feel a little vengeful himself, but he held back as best he could, saying only this: "If you have that much energy to work off, then it would be helpful if one of you would go on hunting duty while the other can perform medic duty. Is this understandable, or shall I choose that as well?"

The two managed to come to a consensus about what work they would do as punishment, although that did not stop one of them from muttering that he was a 'power-hungry bastard' and a 'stupid fool of a kid'. Being that this was not the first time he heard this, nor would it be the last by his estimation, Pent gave everyone else their orders and walked to his tent, nursing his shoulder all the while.

-0-

Because Pent had been suspicious after a week went by without a word from the mainland, he had asked two men to station themselves down by the shore for a week and report back what they had seen. He wasn't happy with what he had heard, and selected two more men. Soon the shoreside service was being called 'vacation duty' and Pent had to face the answer in front of him.

There was no boat of supplies from the mainland. There was nothing except halfway-decent fishing, which was now a necessity because of said lack of supplies.

It took until March to properly understand the situation, and by then weapons had been breaking and fights, both with the Western Isles resistance and among themselves, were increasing in intensity.

Leto had shrugged when he came to her, seeking advice. "We're paid until the annual contract in June," she said. "If the Etrurians don't renegotiate it and instead let it lapse, my general will recall us. That's when you worry. Right now it seems you have enough things to deal with, so focus on that."

Pent had taken her advice and applied himself towards securing new weapons from the Etrurian lords in the area...except, they would only go so far as to give him a discount that he couldn't afford anyway. Morale plummeted.

The official order for the pegasus knights to return to Ilia came in June in the hands of a still pubescent trainee knight with teal hair and sharp blue eyes that scanned the joined Ilia-Etruria camp with suppressed curiosity. Leto left the next day with a shrug. "Try not to die," she advised him. "I wouldn't mind sending pegasus knights to Etruria if I knew there was someone like yourself in command."

"I'm not sure I'm meant for higher command in the military," Pent said, rubbing his arm. He had broken up yet another fight earlier, though someone had landed a punch on him before it had ended, and it still throbbed.

Leto smiled. "I don't care about what you want, I care about the safety of my girls. So for their sake, try not to die." Those were her last words before the pegasus knights flew off, homeward bound. Pent had mixed feelings about it, but Leto in particular hadn't seen her home in three years and so he couldn't help but be happy for her, despite the fact that it may well have crippled the offensive output his forces could muster.

Morale plummeted.

-0-

Pent hates fights. He knows how ridiculous this is when he is a military officer, but it has been ingrained in him since the earliest years to abhor interpersonal conflicts. He can think of a thousand rationalizations why it is necessary to go into battle, but not a one for why friends or family or lovers ever should with each other. This is why he is so inordinately pleased with Louise, because nothing has ever shown him in any of their interactions, face-to-face or epistolary, that they would ever need to debase each other in such a way.

He wonders if this appeals to her as well, the idea that they could have an easy, pleasant life together. God only knows they should be allowed to have that after all of this.

Pent hates fights, and later he thinks that this trait of his is the reason why everything came to head as it did.

-0-

"We don't have enough weapons to keep this up much longer."

"We don't have enough people, you mean."

"Poor Simon can't keep up with the injured. That overstock should have lasted until the end of this year at least, but now..."

"Captain, what should we do?"

Pent sighed mentally. The situation with the weapon stock had always been bad since the Western Islanders seemed to figure out that they were no longer receiving supplies from Etruria, forcing battles multiple times a week, sometimes even daily. They had taken what they could from those they had felled, but Etrurian soldiers of their particular caliber were mainly taught to wield either a sword or a lance, and the resistance preferred basic axes taken from their homes. Pent, being the only mage, had a special store of tomes set up for him after he had been transferred to the Western Isles, but even that was being depleted through the growing intensity of battles. Simon, the lone priest, had more staves due to the fact that the military supply was once equipping for three rather than one, but with all the injuries he had to burn through them even faster than Pent used his magic tomes.

Injuries-there were too many of them. Combat injuries, injuries from fighting with fellow soldiers, and then there were the self-inflicted ones, either to avoid deployment into more battles...or to avoid the burden of living altogether. There wasn't much more than that as far as Pent could tell, and in some sad way he could understand why. Fighting in constant armed battles was stressful; being abandoned by one's own country without a possible way of contacting family or friends was a cruelty unimaginable in normal circumstances.

But what was normal anymore?

"Let's take each situation as a separate issue," Pent began. He dearly wanted to write and make notes, but ink was so limited that there was no point. The last time he had written anything substantial was a letter for Leto to take to Aquleia, but she had returned with nothing but annoyance on her face and an uncomfortable silence whenever he had ventured to ask what had happened there.

That had convinced him that they had been well and truly abandoned.

"All right then," said Henri, one of the sub-leaders, "I think the most important is the matter of injuries-"

There was a loud clamor outside the tent where Pent and the sub-leaders had gathered, and now he couldn't stifle the second sigh escaping his mouth-there was always something going wrong. It was as if it were a natural law as immutable as certain anima theories. "We'd better go see what that was," he said after a moment, a moment in which no one had reacted. Adel was the first to stand after the suggestion, already out of the tent by the time the others were rising, and that worried Pent slightly; Adel's law-abiding nature tended to manifest as something of a condescending irritation that in turn needled the people he was warning. The two other sub-leaders, Henri and Kellis, seemed to think similarly by the tension already set on their faces.

The disturbance was in the center of camp, not too far away from the meeting tent. It seemed to have evolved from a common fistfight to a brawl, or rather it could have if not for Nestor. Pent found himself bemused as he came across the sight of the former mercenary simply grabbing one man away from his apparent victim and throwing him onto the ground, not even sparing that man a glance before he forcibly yanked down the other participant down into something of a sitting position. This caught the attention of everyone else involved and they thankfully elected to stop their actions rather than incur what promised to be a painful punishment.

Nestor looked around for a moment before he crossed his arms. "Are we calm?" Mumbled assent from all involved answered his question, and he nodded in acceptance. "We're all adults. In all situations we must act with dignity."

It seemed to Pent as if the lessening of tension in the area could almost be felt in the air, his own stance relaxing as a reaction. If Nestor could handle all situations as easily, he should really consider the man as another sub-leader, even if there seemed to be a disconnect between Nestor and the rest of the soldiers now that Thomas was gone. At any rate, Pent couldn't say that he was thought of any more fondly by everyone else. All that mattered was ensuring some sort of peace during the downtime moments, few as they were.

Then Adel entered the scene, sternly reprimanding each of the soldiers involved in the fight by name with one hand up and index finger pointing upward in the same way as a professor at Pére Magie who Pent recalled no one was very fond of. The longer he lectured, the more the subtle strain of tension in the atmosphere began to increase.

"There he goes again," Kellis whispered to Henri from behind Pent. "As if someone like him should be lecturing others about taking things too far."

_What does that mean?_ Pent wondered. Caught between his indecision of inquiring further or interceding with Adel's reprimand, he wavered...and then the decision was made for him, as one of the soldiers being personally confronted yelled, "Why don't you shut the hell up already! Like hell I'm going to hear this from either that murderer or some sick rapist like you!"

Dumbfounded, Pent glanced at Nestor, who he already knew as the so-called murderer; there was no discernible reaction on the older man's face, nor was there apparent surprise or even tension in the way the mercenary held himself. He looked rather as if someone told him what the weather would be later that day for all the emotion he was showing. Then, Pent looked at Adel, whose crime was apparently something else entirely. Amid the jeering of the soldiers, Adel stood as still as any of the statues found in Aquleia's nicer districts, his face as white as the stone used to build the royal palace.

And then he turned on his heel and walked away.

-0-

"You didn't know, did you?"

Pent shook his head. "Is there something I can do for you, Nestor?"

"Why are you here?"

The waves lapped at the shoreline where, once, a boat would arrive weekly from Etruria with supplies and mail. While every week there was a letter from Raike, every other week added to what was now one of his few treasures...his few possessions after the commander had set fire to his tent. It was too warm to wear the scarf Louise had made for him, but he made sure to carry her letters with him in the pocket of his coat, just in case something happened.

He didn't consider himself superstitious, only practical.

"I was thinking," Pent responded after a time, never turning away from the repetitive movements of the sea, "about what I should do."

"With Adel?"

Pent couldn't help but sigh at the name. No, he hadn't known; he had never been informed about the details of every crime each soldier had committed to be conscripted and sent to this place, and he had never thought it was important. Yes, they were all criminals being punished, and he was no different. As he did not want or need anyone to know about why he had been sent to the Western Isles, he saw no need to discover it about the others. That was why he was so surprised now, because in hindsight Adel's particular crime was the perfect one for a place like this; there was too little of a chance for him to re-offend, even while the pegasus knights had been around, and it kept him far away as possible from the region where he had once served as a knight.

But of course, in a sense murder was the more sympathetic crime. After all, every man here had at least a mother, if not sisters or girlfriends or wives. Had Pent known beforehand, he never would have assigned Adel as a sub-leader because of that crucial factor, which could only lead to disrespect the likes of which was still to come. And anyway, it seemed that Adel was going every bit as mad as many of the other soldiers and that was the last thing Pent needed at the moment.

He ran a hand through his longish hair, wondering not for the first time if he should just take a knife to it. As soon as the thought crossed his mind he grimaced. "We're all going mad," he said aloud, or realized, or perhaps had always known.

"Yes," Nestor said from behind him. "And you may be the most mad of all, Captain."

I appreciate the vote of confidence, Pent did not say. Instead, he asked, "May I hear your reasoning?"

"You are trying to establish order upon chaos without enough support on your side."

"A mutiny, then?"

Nestor did not answer. With some effort, Pent rose from his place on the beach and brushed sand off his pants. "Kellis will be annoyed if I don't return soon, I'm sure. He can't stand guard at Adel's tent all day."

Nestor coughed. "He'll stand there as long as it takes because you ordered it."

"Would you?" Pent asked, genuinely curious. In response, a half-smile, slanted and slightly roguish, tilted one corner of Nestor's lips upward.

"That much hasn't changed, for his sake."

Smiling, Pent replied, "Yes. I'm trying to live up to Thomas' expectations, too."

-0-

The reason why Pent had placed a guard in front of Adel's tent was entirely for the knight's safety; as much as he was worried that someone with enough hatred and a sturdy dagger might do something to Adel, he was equally worried about Adel harming himself in a fit of shame and self-loathing. When he arrived at the tent in question, Pent found himself staring at the sight of Kellis playing a game of cards by himself. "Is that your definition of keeping guard?" he had to ask.

"Oh, Captain." In one fluid movement Kellis had snapped up all the cards into his right hand. "Hey, he's still fine. You worry too much, you know? Gonna have wrinkles to match your hair if you keep it up."

"Someone has to worry," Pent said, somewhat amused. Kellis was almost preternaturally laid back, his dark green eyes often reflecting some hidden amusement he seemed to carry with the world in general, which was unnerving given the stressful situation they were in, but Pent thought it was because of this personality trait that he was well-liked around the camp. This was the same man who had breezily told him, without any prompting, that he was convicted of theft. Or, as he put it, "How was I supposed to know she needed that necklace for her wedding? She had so many of them, anyway."

Keeping in mind that the woman Kellis had referred to was the daughter of the master of the house he had been working for, Pent considered more stringent employment requirements if he ever returned to Reglay.

"Maybe, maybe," Kellis murmured as he tucked his cards into some hidden place in his tunic. "That guy's not doing anything. He's not going to."

Unsure of what to make of that odd assurance, Pent turned his attention to the entrance of the tent, which was covered by a pinned-up flap. "Is that so? That would be best. In the meanwhile, please see what you can do to help Simon. I'm afraid the number of injured is overcoming his best efforts."

"Sure, Captain."

After the other man left, Pent looked at the closed flap with some trepidation before calling out, "Adel, may I speak with you?"

"...As you like, Captain."

Pent entered the tent and was perhaps more startled by the fact that Adel looked as he always did, though perhaps there was a strain about his eyes that wasn't apparent before. The tent was clean and rather spartan, Pent couldn't help but notice as he sat down across from the other man. Before his tent had been burned down, Pent was certain that he had at least some clutter, even if it was only a matter of a couple tomes and remnants of letter-writing. "Well," he said as he crossed his legs, "perhaps we should discuss the reason why you were originally sent here. Is it tr-no, what were you convicted of?"

Lowering his eyes, Adel answered, "Compromising the virtue of a lady of marriageable age. But..."

"But?"

"She was...she is still my fiancée."

There seemed to be a story here that Pent did not want to touch. "...May I ask the lady's identity?"

"The second daughter of Viscount Gissing." Adel was gripping his knees so tightly Pent could see his knuckles whiten with the pressure. "I was her personal bodyguard."

"Did her father approve of it?"

"No, no, he hadn't, but..." The stricken look on Adel's face was enough to silence any further reasoning from Pent in regards to the whole situation, and he sat in agitated silence as Adel began to speak, his words now tumbling from his lips as if he would never have the chance to explain himself again. "But you must understand, my orders were to protect and serve her with my life. I was charged to be with her nearly every waking moment, and yet I was not supposed to feel anything for her? How was I...how is any man, knight though he may be, supposed to feel only distance between himself and his lady liege? How is it wrong to love her when everything about our relationship encourages that very emotion? How was she not supposed to feel the same? Were I given the chance, I would have married her before anything had happened, but because I'm to be seen as lesser than her simply because of my birth, how else could we..."

Uncomfortable now, Pent looked away. "I don't know, but-"

"And now, and now this," Adel rambled on, "my sentence was completed months ago, but I'm still stuck on this island. There's no way to receive word from her anymore, no way to know if her father has decided to marry her off despite my claim, no way to stop it. Without anything from her, it's as if our relationship were but a passing dream, and as life continues in the kingdom I'm...I'm not a part of it anymore. I would endure any slight, I have endured that much, and yet this is too much..."

The only words Pent had were trapped in his heart, unwilling to be unleashed. Adel was looking at him as if Pent should understand, and perhaps he did, only-

"Captain, it's the same for you as well, isn't it? Everyone knows about your fiancée, so you surely understand-"

"Adel," Pent interrupted. "I'm relieving you of your command."

"...What?"

Pent hated that he had to do this, but he couldn't see any other way. Clearly the madness of the long months had taken hold of the knight, and he could no longer assure himself that the soldiers once under Adel's command would stay as safe as the circumstances would allow. "I don't believe it would be a good idea to allow you to continue your leadership at this time," he said as kindly as the words would allow. "You're overstressed as it is, and that is showing in the way you regard others."

A strange flicker of something hostile glittered in Adel's narrowed eyes. "So you intend to give it to Nestor instead?"

"I haven't really considered," Pent hedged, not liking the sudden inquiry.

"My crime sounds reprehensible, but can't you see that the truth behind it is no different from those songs the bards like to sing? Do you think it's any different from your own feelings for your intended?"

Pent frowned. "Please do not presume to know or understand my feelings."

"Why shouldn't I?" Adel pressed. "We're both men, so let's be honest here, Captain. The feelings we have are more natural than murder, don't you think? Besides, you shouldn't even trust that man. He murdered a noble, do you realize that? He came here to avoid execution!"

"We're done with this conversation," Pent said as he rose to his feet. "As a knight, you should know better than to use others in order to avoid responsibility for your actions. I don't feel comfortable having you continue in a leadership position at this point in time. Perhaps later, but not right now. If you desire the position that much, then show me that you understand your faults and correct them. Everyone is too stressed right now to endure needless anger; a calm and steady mind is what I value most at this time."

Slanting his gaze away from Pent, Adel said, "The commander was a more pragmatic leader than you, Captain. I, and many others, would never have aided a mutiny against him. Indeed, we would have fought it off as best we could. People like Thomas or Nestor or Henri don't understand that Etruria is strong because we always stand for order at all times, even when it appears that chaos would benefit us more. That could never be true, for Saint Elimine put the lie to that."

"If I understand this correctly, if there were a mutiny against me, you would fight it off?" Pent questioned. Adel nodded.

"But not for you, Captain. Only because you represent what is left of order, though you do not wield it well. I can only trust in that, if nothing else."

There was something truly horrible Pent thought to mention, something that he hoped would be beyond him to even conceive during better times, but after a struggle he only nodded curtly and left Adel's tent.

It took a lot to do that. A lot, and the thought of what Louise's eyes would surely look like if he did not prove himself to be the better man at even the worst of times.

-0-

Despite Adel's words, Pent doesn't completely understand the other man's feelings. It is true that he has had thoughts about Louise that he would be beyond mortified were anyone able to extract it from the depths of his mind. These are the things that he can only admit to himself in the darkest hours of the night, with only old images of happier times flickering through his mind like the slow death of nostalgia.

What he doesn't understand is the certainty Adel had that he would act in the very same way simply because he 'has' someone. The very insinuation disturbs him for days, because while he certainly has the same urges as any other man, he also has values instilled in him that tell him in no uncertain terms not to ever try. They also tell him that in Lady Catherine's voice, using her rather specific instructions on what she would do to him were he to ever ignore her warnings, and, as it were, it's fine. He's not ready.

A kiss would be fine. He had been working his way to that. Slowly, perhaps, but these things are as new to him as they must be for Louise. Had life not interceded in its own way, he surely would have kissed her by now...a proper kiss.

It is the summer of her sixteenth year. They would have been married by now.

Thinking this is the first time he truly realizes that he may never see her again. He might live and die on Fibernia without ever knowing why it was decided that he and so many others were abandoned here. Were he slightly more paranoid, he might suspect that this was a ploy executed by his enemies in Reglay in order to rid House Reglay of its last direct descendant, placing one of their own on the throne. If that truly were the reason...God, they could have it. They could take away all of his birthrights if only it meant that these nearly sixty men could be returned to their homes and families in Etruria. They did nothing to deserve this.

No, not even if they murdered a noble. For, if his paranoia was correct, Pent could certainly forgive the impulse.

-0-

"No!"

Pent didn't think, only react as he ran towards Henri and a charging resistance fighter, muttering a spell under his breath all the while. Power pulsed inside him; his right hand felt as if it had its own heartbeat as he raised it in the air. He was compelled to make the three seals of anima magic, those of fire, lightning, and wind, his eyes widening as a great sigil formed in front of him. This was the first time he had delved so deeply into the heart of anima, and his control was shaky as he released the full force of its might towards the enemy. The resulting fireball engulfed the man within the flames of pure magical fire, extinguishing his life as instantly as it changed flesh into ash. His heart beating wildly, he turned to the kneeling soldier, whose leg was still bleeding profusely. When standing, Henri was a veritable mountain of a man, short hair golden with his Etruscan heritage and his demeanor as straightforward as Pent supposed a poor farmhand's should be; when kneeling, even in pain, he seemed no less sure of his strength.

Approaching him, Pent offered, "Shall I find Simon for you? Or would you prefer I help you over to him?"

"You...saved my life," Henri mumbled. "Thank you, Captain."

"You saved mine once before, remember? Also," Pent continued with a smile, "don't you have someone waiting for you? Your daughter, I believe? I would like for everyone to return to their loved ones."

Henri smiled. Once, Thomas had told Pent that Henri had been sent to the Isles for conspiracy to burglarize Count Utica's summer manor for the sake of providing for his daughter during the lean winter; even today, Pent knew that the other man kept a packet of his daughter's letters on him, just like Pent did with Louise's letters.

Not every crime was selfish, and some were worth doing. The more he came to understand his fellow 'criminals', the more Pent found his worldview altering...perhaps for the better.

-0-

"Nestor. Did you truly murder a nobleman?"

Actually, that had not been how Pent had intended to introduce the subject. He had agonized over it for a week, after a fashion, before deciding that he even needed to ask the question at all. But with Nestor alone on the seashore following another fight he had quelled that very morning, Pent decided to throw caution to the wind. The declining mood of the force as a whole made him wonder if there might be any other opportunity after this.

The look Nestor gave him was not hostile as such, though the way he pursed his lips together indicated a certain amount of annoyance. "That is what I was convicted for," he answered after a long moment of silence.

Pent nodded once. "I see. In that case, did he deserve it?"

Nestor's expression, never truly open during the best of times, showed a flash of surprise before all emotion fled from his face. "Yes, Captain."

"All right," Pent said. "I believe you." He made to leave, a little embarrassed at his impertinence, before Nestor's voice called him back.

"It happened in late AS 967."

Glancing over his shoulder, Pent inquired, "Will you tell me?"

"Yes," Nestor said, and this was the story he told:

"I was a mercenary, a good one, in those days. I had partnered with a good friend from my home village, and when he was killed I decided to take care of his younger sister in his stead. She was a very gentle girl, a storyteller. The saint would have wanted that girl to tell stories from The Journey all her life. She should have.

In nine sixty-seven, the taxes had been raised all throughout the county, and the noble family in our area took care to get all the money they could from us. They dispatched their sons directly. Had I been home at the time, nothing would have happened. I wasn't, and the youngest son came across her instead." Nestor paused here, and Pent could see something he had never witnessed on the stoic mercenary's face before: anger. "His family was of a mind to take from us every last piece of gold they could. He followed their example to other ends."

Covering his lower face with one hand, Pent looked away.

"I returned shortly after from a mission to find her. Once she had told me what happened, I intended to end him myself, but she convinced me to wait. I...did not want to upset her further, and I felt unusually tired as it was. It turned out that she had drugged me during supper, and afterward she took my dagger and did the job herself. My only regret is that she felt she had to kill herself later, in another place. I had been arrested by then, because my dagger had been a gift from her brother, and he had thought to have my name carved into it." Something of a smile curved Nestor's lips slightly. "It would have to be something like that."

"But the murder of a noble is a very serious crime," Pent remarked, rubbing his jaw and the first hints of stubble. "I can't imagine you would have been able to escape execution, even if you could be put to more use here."

"Yes," Nestor said, no longer with any hint of mirth. "But I was very lucky. He hadn't been well-liked even within his own family, and they did not pursue execution instantly. There was a new count at the time my execution date was finally settled, and one of his first acts was to commute every sentence into lighter punishments."

Pent raised an eyebrow at that; though he couldn't place why, something about the narrative bothered him. "Very generous of him." Nestor shrugged.

"I have to be grateful all the same. Instead of death, I was sent here as one of the first soldiers, and I have been here ever since."

"Hm. Some here would say this was worse than death."

"Most of the men here have been convicted for petty things, such as theft or assault. Any shadow of death is too much for them."

Pent looked out to the water. It was clear, as was the sky, but all the same he could not see the other side of the strait. "I would think that living after being abandoned like this would be worse."

"So you're going to give up?"

"No," Pent said, now looking at the ground, one hand on his hip. "Commander Leto promised to bring back whatever information she could, so there is that. Also, there are people waiting for me at home."

Nestor looked at him. "What county are you from?"

"Reglay."

"You too? I hope you weren't allied with that family."

Delayed realization hit Pent like a fist, a sensation he was unfortunately acquainted with. How could he have not...but then, he consoled himself, he couldn't remember signing an edict such as the one described. Could it have been something Borenze had slipped within the pages and pages of paperwork that had awaited him after his father's death?

He wasn't sure he appreciated having to be grateful to Borenze after everything the man had done, but Pent decided to magnanimous. Though he may well pay for Borenze's share of the crime with his life, his former steward had not been a terrible man in all aspects of his life.

"No," Pent said after a while. "Not that noble house."

-0-

The soldier was screaming in rage as he threw down his sword. "I'm sick of this! I don't want to fight anymore!"

Everyone let him be, even Pent. This was not the first time someone broke down publicly as spring gave way to the shining heat of summertime, and Pent knew it would not be the last.

After some time of ranting and raging, some of the soldier's friends came up to him and lead him away, all of them talking in low, calming tones.

Pent hoped it would help, at least for some time.

-0-

"We're not going to take this any longer!"

"Ah," Pent murmured, turning to Simon, the lone company priest. "I take it this is what requires my attention?"

The young man, whose dark-ringed eyes and nervous tics were more of a testament to how hard he worked rather than an impending breakdown-so Pent hoped-sighed in resignation. "Please limit the amount of bloodshed, if you can."

Pent winced. "I don't intend to kill anyone. If they wish to talk, I will listen."

Simon only sighed again. Pent could understand it if he didn't inspire confidence in his fellow men, but he had to admit that the reaction was highly demoralizing. He could do nothing else but gesture for the priest to stand back before he strode forward to meet with the group of men loudly agitating in the center of the camp. They numbered about ten, but who knew how many others would be inspired by their rhetoric, if not their actions, by the end of this confrontation? Even seeing this proved the weakness of his command without even a word from him; that could be inspiration enough, so far as Pent was concerned.

Even though he knew that all he had done-all he could do-was to make the most of a bad situation, he had always known in the depths of his heart that it was not nearly enough.

He had never been enough.

Stepping up to the group of men, he inquired, "What can I do for you?"

"You!" One of the men jabbed a finger in his direction. "What the hell are you doing? Get us off this island now!"

"If I could do that, we would already have returned to Etruria," Pent stated, a pinprick of annoyance already digging into him. Being yelled at was no longer a novelty.

"You don't know how to lead," said another man as he stepped up to Pent. There was a dagger in his hand that Pent deemed would be fatal to discount. "That's why we're taking over."

_This is escalating too fast_, Pent thought. A quick glance to the side revealed that other soldiers were surrounding them, though he recognized most of them as being at least fairly neutral; good men who could understand the larger ramifications of what had happened to them and resented the situation more than each other. In other words, they were probably not going to intervene unless things took a turn for the murderous, and at that point the mutinous soldiers would be too bloodthirsty to stop.

This had to be stopped now.

"No," Pent said, "you're not. But you are welcome to leave the camp, if you so wish."

The man with the dagger cursed as he stabbed at Pent, who stepped out of the way easily. His fingers twitched towards the Fire tome he carried with him, but he stopped himself; he wanted no casualties if he could help it. They may have hated him, but they were still Etrurian soldiers. He could understand their frustrations, even if he couldn't solve the problems that surrounded the camp. Simply put, he could not harm his own.

Now, if only they had the same inclination.

The man lunged at him again; Pent dodged one, two, three times, nearly stumbling over his own feet as the man's frenzied strikes became less predictable to avoid. "What do you think you're doing?" he bit out, his heart pounding in fierce desperation as the realization that he just might die if he didn't do something, _anything_ ensnared his heart. Yet what was he supposed to do? Attack them? Kill them?

What would that solve?

There was movement to his left, different from the man in front of him. He turned, hoping to keep both of them in his sight, but he wasn't fast enough. Searing agony burned along his bicep as a blade ripped through sleeve and flesh. Swallowing the cry that erupted from his throat was too difficult as he gripped his arm with his right hand, feeling a momentary dizziness as he felt the warmth of his blood flow between his fingers. He breathed hard as he righted himself, staring hard at his opponents. They were all brandishing weapons now.

"Hey, Captain, don't worry. You're not fighting this alone."

The sounds of swords being unsheathed behind him did not console Pent, nor did the footsteps of the men coming to stand behind him and at his side. He glanced at them, their grim faces and old, worn swords, then at the mutinous soldiers in front of him with their grim faces and old, worn swords.

Then he made a decision.

"We are not going to do this. I would rather surrender than fight my own countrymen."

His own side was stunned into silence; the men before him overcame their shock with a speed that was envious as they began to jeer at him, mocking his words and working to build their righteous fury so that it would be easier for them once the time came to act again. Pent could see that. As his blood trickled down his arm and over his hand, staining both his sleeve and skin red, as his heart pounded and his mind worked to find the words he needed for a somewhat bloodless conclusion, he could see it all.

Was anything he had done while in Reglay this important? Anything in all his years of schooling? Or in his years being shunted around as the unwanted fosterling son? What had he learned in his life that could be used in this moment to prevent a terrible end?

He knew the answer.

"You're doing this because you're afraid."

This silenced the jeering; in the instant between shock and anger, he seized the moment and continued. "That is only natural. We've not had contact with our homeland in almost six months. We don't know why, and having a lack of knowledge about something leads to fear of it. It's fine to admit that we're afraid, but even though we have lost contact with our country, it does not mean that we have lost our country...that is, we are all still Etrurians. Were this Missur or Lycia or Sacae rather than the Western Isles this fact would not change.

"We are Etrurians. We are the children of Saint Elimine. Our country was founded on her principles of devotion, faith, and honor. As Etrurians we should follow her example not only when times are good, but also when they are not...especially when they are not. Rather than aiming for each other as an outlet for our fears, we should work together so that we can all one day return to our country."

After Pent ended his impromptu speech, he waited for a response, any response. He didn't have to wait too long before one of the mutinous soldiers snickered. "Listen to the little noble and his pretty words. Can you believe this?"

Pent exhaled slowly as his dizziness seemed to increase for a moment, vertigo assaulting him and making him wish he could sit down and have his wound looked at. However, he was also aware of the image he was portraying, and sought to uphold it for as long as it was needed. "I am not so little, and I do believe my words. If I didn't, I wouldn't bother speaking."

"You shouldn't bother anyway. No one wants to hear words when we need action!" another one of the soldiers yelled, swiping his hand through the air for effect. "What the hell are your words going to do for us when our own country has forgotten us!"

"We're not forgotten, I assure you," Pent said. Later, he would conclude for himself whether he had knowingly lied. "That simply isn't possible."

"It isn't? Who are you to tell us what is and isn't true? From where I'm standing, you're just a liar trying to save his own skin."

Perhaps he was at the edge of delirium, because Pent allowed these words to pass his lips: "I can tell you this because I am Count Reglay."

It seemed the whole place exploded in a fit of pandemonium as everyone began talking all at once, a rather different scene than the deathly stillness of before. Unsure of which he preferred, Pent let himself waver; although the cut was not to the bone, the loss of blood was draining him the longer he stayed in place. _Please let this conclusion be favorable and then I'll rest as much as necessary_, he thought, and as if beckoned by it he could nearly imagine Louise standing before him, her eyes wide and her lips parted with concern. He could see her reaching out to him...

_Stop it_, he commanded himself. _Now isn't the time._

It was just as well, for when his vision cleared he found that a couple of the men before him were looking a good deal craftier than they had before, when they had only been part of a righteous group bound by fear and smoldering anger. He didn't like this, and he liked it a lot less once one of them said, "I wonder how much the resistance will give us if they have Etruria's Count Reglay as a hostage?"

"That depends," Pent started, slow anger like a second heartbeat, "on whether you believe your own lives are worth the price of such madness. I can understand your anger, but voicing such a plan means I can no longer allow you to stay here."

"Hey, Captain," Kellis called out as he made his way to where Pent was standing. Pent caught the look the other man gave his injured arm before his gaze oriented towards Pent's face. "Some of those guys just need to calm down. If we just keep watch over all of them and they promise real nicely not to act like idiots, then let's keep them around. Like you said, we're all Etrurians, even if they say stupid things sometimes."

Secretly, Pent wondered if his speech was something Kellis also considered stupid, but decided to keep to the matter at hand. "If you're willing to take over the particulars, I will allow it." Another wave of dizziness forced him to bring his bloodied hand to his forehead as he took long, deep breaths. "I'll be in my tent if anyone needs me."

Perhaps it was not the best way to end the conflict and still look like the confident, dependable captain he knew they needed, but later he would notice a diffusion of tension around the camp and understand that he had a part in that.

And that was all right with him. More than, really.

-0-

"So you really are Count Reglay."

Pent looked up from the preliminary schedule he was drawing in the sand. "Hello, Nestor."

"Which do you prefer to be called?"

"Captain is fine. We're not in Etruria at the moment, and I don't wish for anyone to feel they have to stand on ceremony for me." After looking at his schedule, he glanced back at Nestor. "Would you prefer hunting or fishing this week?"

Nestor looked askance at him. "A choice?"

"You're very good at guard work, but I'd like to switch around the camp duties more often. That would only be fair."

"Fishing, then."

"That would be smart," Pent agreed, running a hand through his hair to keep it out of his face. Though his immunity to extreme weather was growing stronger, he found his body still had its natural reactions, one of them being the sweat that collected on his forehead and caused his hair to stick to it. The morning fog had become something of a blessing, as it seemed that the Western Isles was determined to match central Etruria for its heat waves this year.

Nestor stayed around as Pent worked on the rest of the schedule, memorizing it before smoothing out the sand. He missed paper and ink for his pen, but these things were no longer luxuries but nonexistent in their camp. With the Etrurian lords keeping their distance from him, he had no choice but to forego them for more natural replacements.

"Captain?"

"Hm?" Pent mumbled as he began jotting down anima equations.

"We have visitors."

There was no vessel on the water, which disappointed Pent until he thought to look up and found two pegasus knights flying high in the cloudless skies. It was a sight that amazed him; they could fly higher than even the tallest castle, soaring like birds while fighting like knights. He wondered if there were any pegasus knights who chose their duty not to fight, but to fly. It was a fanciful thought that kept him occupied until the two landed, and he couldn't help the smile on his face when he found that one of them was clad in black. "Commander Leto," he greeted as she approached him, her pegasus following without a lead.

She looked at him, her black eyes making her expression seem unfathomable, before her gaze slid to just behind him. "You'll want this to be private," she stated.

"Nestor," Pent began, only to find when he turned that the older man was already heading towards the camp. Returning his attention to the pegasus knights, he found that the other one was lingering nearby, feeding her pegasus with carrots from its saddlebag. "I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Commander."

Commander Leto jabbed a thumb towards the other woman. "That's Althea, commander of the third wing. She's here because I have to be monitored while I do this."

"Monitored?"

"At my debriefing with the general in charge of your group, I was told that, if I reveal any of the information I know to any Etrurian, that Ilia can forget ever having another contract from Etruria again." Crossing her arms, a corner of her lips quirked upward as she stared at him. "So this will have to be brief."

Pent returned her gaze, his mood suddenly grim. "What exactly is going on?"

"I can't tell you that either, for the sake of our relationship with Etruria. I can only give you one thing." Taking a piece of paper from a pouch on her belt, she first handed it to the other commander. "As you can see, no words," she said.

Commander Althea returned it. "This isn't worth it, Leto."

"I know," Commander Leto said, "but Yulie said that Gracia's soul will haunt me unless I do right by him."

"Those backwater beliefs."

"They have to have something to entertain themselves where they are," Commander Leto replied with a hint of dismissal before turning to Pent. She held out the folded paper to him. "Take it. Maybe you won't get it, maybe you will, but I'll give you the chance to try."

He took it. "I thank you." Taking a step back, Commander Leto looked up at him with what he would term almost a curious manner.

"And another thing, though I don't know if I should tell you this. I'm thinking that there aren't a lot of men named Pent. Or, at least, I would hope not."

"Hm. I wouldn't know."

"I'm sure. This other Pent...apparently he was the count of Reglay County. He's been buried since April."

Pent stared at her, unable to speak, unable to even bring to mind a thought with which to convey how he felt. She might have realized it, because she turned away and began to mount her pegasus. It was only when those powerful wings began to rise and fall that he was able to free himself from the spell that had kept him mute, but when he began to rush forward she and her comrade were already in the air, already crossing over the strait.

_Dead? I'm thought to be dead? Why...how?_

_Louise thinks I'm dead._

It felt as thought a sudden illness had overtaken his stomach and he clenched his hand, crushing the paper Commander Leto had given him. Smoothing it open, he found himself staring at a drawing of a flower.

_Thomas?_

A hibiscus.

_What is this supposed to mean? _he thought as he studied the petals of the image._ It was obvious this was copied from the heraldry of the house crest, but he had no idea why. Did she mean that whoever had debriefed her-my group's general-is also a man of this noble house?__ There are only three generals, and I know this isn't the great general's crest. I saw his house crest displayed everywhere when he was granted the appointment, and anyway it was a tree because his family's nobility comes from being established soldiers._

_Then who? There's the mage general and the knight general..._

And then he remembered a most terrible thing. Lady Catherine, and-

_Be careful, though, as he's a petty man. If he's given you advice and you decide not to regard it, he will always remember that as a personal insult and he will make you suffer for it._

-her former fiancé, the Knight General of Etruria. With that came a complete understanding of the circumstances as they were, and why he should expect to never see Etruria again.

_He took the chance to wipe me utterly from Etruria, all because I ignored his words and stayed with Louise. The reason why the claimant garnered such strong support in Reglay among the other nobles was because they had the support of the knight general, the assurance that he would make it so that I would never return._

_I'm not Count Reglay anymore. And Louise..._

He stayed at the shore for a while and watched the waves. Before he returned to the camp, he tucked the scrap of paper next to Louise's letters.

The shoreline was no longer his favorite place to relax; he could expect nothing from the other side of the strait any longer.

-0-

Pent knows what it feels like to be abandoned. He is, in a sense, used to it. He had never expected to be purposely cut off, though. Not like this. Never like this.

He will survive it, though. For the sake of his men, he can do nothing else but lead them. However, they believe in his words that one day they will be remembered and that simply isn't true any more.

For what it's worth, he is sorry. He never meant to mislead them to such an extent.

Then there is Louise. It is easier for him to think of Louise these days as an old friend who has slipped out of his life. She thinks he's dead, killed in a foreign land, and that may be fine. Since he had never revealed his feelings for her, he thinks it will be easier for her because she won't be weighed down by them. He cares for her too much to do that to her.

She'll find someone else. She'll love someone else. She'll marry someone else. It's fine. He's used to feeling a little empty on the inside, used to the loneliness.

Her letters are still in his coat, but now he knows enough to admit to himself that it's not about practicality.

It never was.

-end-

Something a little different, both in style and in punctuation. The aim of the story was to, in a sense, wear down the reader, disorient them to some extent. This is the last of the monstrously long stories, I promise! As well as punctuation goes, it seems that FFN isn't allowing double dashes at the moment, depriving me of my favorite multi-purpose symbol. How cruel! Thank you for reading, and come back on 6/14 for the beginning of the end!

The current Great General of Etruria: People who have played FE6 should be familiar with the name Douglas, as he is the great general in that game (that, and Ch. 16 was a mess). The artbook mentions that he is in his fifties and his supports indicated that he was ready to retire, so I don't think it's too far-fetched to assume that he's been in that position for decades. After all, Pent had been Mage General since his early twenties.

Easter egg: Just like in the last story, we see a character who is also in the game. I wonder who it could be?

Adel, Disgraced Knight: The Fire Emblem series loves the princess/knight trope, if the supports (and their popularity) are any evidence. Not to go stomping on anyone's OTP or anything, but can you guess the one thing all those princesses have in common? They don't have living parents. This is especially interesting when you look at Priscilla's supports; while she has romantic inclinations in several of them, she can only officially be with Erk because he's the only one who can get enough prestige to be worthy of marrying her-the only one her parents will approve of. A lot of the princess/knight stuff comes from the ideal of courtly love, where a knight devotes himself to a lady, claiming the spoils of battle for her and such, but he is (technically) not supposed to consummate the relationship. Probably the most realistic encounter between a princess-type and a knight in the FE games is the Clarine/Lance supports in FE6, where there isn't even a hint of romance. Of course, her parents being who they are, they'd probably approve.

Nestor, Dignified Mercenary: I just wanted to use this title.

Backwater beliefs: Yulie comes from the village of Corinth, _Shadows Under the Oak Tree_'s main setting. Located deep within the hinterlands of Ilia, the village holds truly animistic beliefs because of its guardian mage family.


	24. Full Bloom, part 1

Bouquet

(C) Intelligent Systems and Nintendo

-0-

Full Bloom, part one: Plum Tree  
(_i keep my promise_)

It was dark, but the summer night was so warm that Louise decided to go without her cloak for now. Later, though, she knew it would be necessary if only because it would be too unusual to find two young women riding without a chaperone, and she did not wish for any more delays from her purpose.

"Lady Louise," called Celia's sweet voice, "Lady Louise, I've saddled her. Do you have everything?"

"Yes," Louise whispered, knowing that it would carry. Thankfully the stables were away from the house, but that did not mean they could tarry overlong. Shouldering her burden, she hurried to the front of the stable, where she could but make out the outlines of her dearest friend and docile Marion, who was harnessed just as Celia had promised. She was the first to climb atop the blue-gray mare, tying the two small bags that served as their luggage to either side of the saddle before reaching for Celia, who settled comfortably behind her.

"Would you like me to keep your bow?"

Louise turned, a little embarrassed now. "Is it in your way, Celia?"

"Not much," Celia was quick to assure her. "I just wondered if it was comfortable for you to wear it like that. You never kept your last bow strung too long, I remember."

"It should be fine. This is an iron bow, and metal won't bend too easily to twine, though the string might have too much of a give after long. But..." Louise looked ahead, gripping the reins as she could just about find the road they were to travel upon. "I think it will be fine. We don't know what dangers we will find on the way to Aquleia, so we must be prepared at all times."

"Oh," she could hear Celia murmur, and briefly she wondered if it would be best to ask her dear friend to stay behind, never mind that it would be quite the loss for her to bear. Then Celia wrapped her arms around Louise's waist. "Shall we be off, Lady Louise? Nothing will change as long as we stay here...not with their plans in place."

"Right!" Urging Marion forward, Louise kept her eyes on the road.

_Mother and Father's plans...I'm sorry, but I cannot suffer them._

-0-

Louise had entered the house quietly, a tremble running through her hands that she could not easily dispel no matter how much she willed her hands to stay stiff and strong. Yet in her own way, she was also pleased because the ache that coursed through her fingers and along her shoulders and back were indications of a growing strength that could not be denied. It meant that she, too, could not be denied.

There were low murmurs as she crossed the foyer that caught her attention as soon as her ears caught them. She hesitated - when had her curiosity been anything more than a sword that cut twice in one swing? - before lightly making her way toward the voices, those of her beloved mother and father. They were speaking in normal tones within the confines of her mother's library, though what Louise had heard was a cresting of emotion that caused her parents' voices to momentarily rise, as if on the wings of a soaring falcon.

Without interruption, with barely a breath to sustain herself, this is what she heard:

"I just said I don't care for it, dearest, but what can I do but condone it? All she has now is her archery, though I don't care for how long she practices every day. It worries me."

"She's always had her archery. I would prefer she spend her time on that than something more destructive to herself." In Etruscan, "Though, when you worry that much you seem even more beautiful. You always were more suited to maternal concerns than you ever let yourself believe."

"What did you just say?"

"How is it that we have been married for seventeen years, yet you've picked up nothing of Etruscan?"

"I don't care for the dead and the dying."

"Why do you visit your father so much, then?"

"Oh, would you please get over your dislike of him? It's always so annoyingly masculine."

"He's made certain I'll never forget. You know this."

"Oh, Gérald...this has nothing to do with our daughter. I wish you would worry more, if only for my sake."

"Would you be less worried if she spent all day crying in her room, like before? I for one greatly prefer her as she is now, after the funeral, than before it."

"I just don't like it. There is something about her manner now that frightens me. I look at her, and I cannot recognize her as my own Louise."

"It is true she has changed, but it is to be expected. Catherine..."

"I...I want my daughter back. Whatever can be done, I will do it with my own two hands if it would only restore her."

"There, Catherine. You still have your writing to occupy you. You've gone quite far in that manuscript as it is."

"I've still more to say, much more. Enough to shatter his foundation and bring him to his knees. For destroying my daughter's happiness, he deserves no less than divine retribution."

"I know it. I entrust the matter to you. Only, remember to fully repent afterward. To take joy from this act is no different than his dragonesque ways. I won't have you fall in your quest to make him falter."

"You make it sound so paltry. I don't mean to make him tumble; I will take his legs entirely."

"Catherine..."

"Hm...dearest, let's send Louise away for a time. I fear she cannot truly recuperate here. Hellene needed a different scenery entirely to regain herself, so perhaps..."

"I could send her to my sister, I suppose...I know, I know. You don't have to glare at me like that. It was only a thought."

"Well, I would prefer you thought more about my own comfort."

"What do you think I've dedicated my life to? That was what you requested."

"No, it was what you offered."

"Bold woman. Anyway, where should we send Louise? Not too far away, I hope."

"And Lycia isn't? But I wouldn't want her in such an uncouth place. Missur is very nearly civilized according to Luca, and the sea breeze would refresh her. We'll send Celia with her...no, Joshua. Joshua would be much better."

"Well, I would feel better if it were him, but I need him here. I could ask the good count for some of his men."

"No, no, that wouldn't do. It must be Joshua, because he needs a change as well."

"He only arrived here not even a year ago. What sort of change does he need?"

"Mm...perhaps the image of the girl reflected in his eyes..."

"Another one of your schemes, Catherine?"

"Not quite, only that he could help her just by being near. And honestly, Celia is a dear, but she has already made her choice all too clear. You cannot say that you disapprove of such a match, dearest. Unless you liked _him_ a great deal more than you ever let on."

"I don't know. I only know that it seemed easier over time to accept it after she left again. It is unsatisfactory that it ended this way, almost anti-climatic. But I suppose you're right. Joshua is very dependable, very suitable for her. If that is the choice she makes, I will support it. But Catherine, not before."

"You'll make the arrangements, then?"

"Yes. If that is all I can do for her, I will agree to any expense. I'm sure Aramis has property there."

"I'm sure."

"Catherine..."

"Hm...thank you, Gérald. Thank you for listening to my concerns."

"You _are_ my wife."

"Yes...stay a little while longer, if you please. I find that the events of the last few months have made me more cautious to keep my happiness close to me. If he's mad enough to strike down a count after so many years, how much longer would he be willing to wait to do harm to you?"

"Don't worry. Only Saint Elimine's decree will separate us. There is no power below the heavens that can do the same. We've already proven that."

"Thank you, my dearest..."

Slowly, but without the hesitation that so characterized her girlhood, Louise had stepped away from the door, her head bent and her heartbeat in a flurry. One small hand reached to tuck a lock of hair that had slipped out of the hold of her loose bun, and if it had trembled in the least she could not have have known it. All she had known were her own thoughts, which could aptly be summed up as this:

_Must that be already? I can't, no matter how much I love you. I can't. Celia..._

This is what Louise had heard that day, three days before the night she fled Alloway to seek her own destiny. After all, on that regard she had learned from the best.

-0-

Her grandfather's townhouse in Aquleia looked little used when Louise and Celia arrived on the evening of the second day, Marion having safely delivered them at no faster than a spirited trot. Neither had minded, as it was far more important to seem a fixture on the road than an oddity on it, and what else would two young ladies on a single horse look but a most curious oddity?

After much-needed baths and all the necessary preparations for bed, Celia spoke in the night darkness of their shared room. "Lady Louise, do you think we'll be caught soon?"

"No," answered Louise in a thoughtful tone, "I wouldn't think so, since I left a note detailing our movements."

There was silence for a moment, then the sound of rustling sheets and displaced weight on the other bed attracted Louise's attention. "Ah, that was smart. They'll have no need to go after you if they're aware of where you are. But, suppose your lady mother sends a letter to your lord grandfather?"

"Then she sends a letter," Louise replied. "And it will not look good for me, but I have already decided on this. I will not go to Missur. She may think me better at Grandfather's manor instead and simply send a letter of warning about my arrival." She shifted on her bed, letting her blankets fall from over her bosom to just above her hips; the night air was unusually hot and stifling and neither had wished to open a window and attract any sort of attention, whether from a strolling guard alarmed that someone was now occupying the townhouse in such a fine district, or a passing would-be thief who made his rounds here. "Father may be worried, but Mother will see the wisdom in the act and decide to leave well enough alone. That's always been her way."

"But, does it not look strange that we departed in the middle of the night?"

Louise smiled in the darkness as she stared above her, unseeing. "Mother will choose to be lenient on me just this once. She will remember her own past and not wish to push the issue and have me separate permanently."

A sigh, and then, "You've thought of everything, haven't you?"

"Not everything. Who knows how Grandfather will react?"

"I'm a little scared," Celia murmured. "Steel bends before he does. I've always thought this."

Louise murmured her assent, and afterward there was nothing but restless sleep in a heat too difficult to be comfortable in.

-0-

Well-fed, well-watered, and somewhat rested, the three of them made for the grand manor of Duke Mersey, the retired Great General of Etruria, Yossas Trent. It had been many years since Louise had laid eyes upon her grandfather and she wondered now how much time had changed them and the tenuous bond of blood that tied the two of them together. She prayed he would be moved by her, touched by sentimentality, but knew different; the only reason why he recognized her mother as his trueborn daughter once again was not due to any softening of his heart but the fact that she was his only direct relative and had a head for all the business of nobility that he had to resign from in his bouts of failing health. He never asked for Louise to visit and seemed to hate the long blond hair that revealed her Etruscan lineage as plainly as the eye could see, but now she had little choice in the matter.

It was either here or Missur, and in the latter destination nothing could be done.

They stopped at a village approaching the manor and rented a room with what savings Louise had brought, enough to assure their passage at all the planned stops and at what few unplanned ones she could think of; perhaps her father would have been pleased at her scrupulous use of the coinage that was ubiquitous throughout Elibe, for it was he who taught her the value of money on every level great and small though she was only a girl. A lesser man, she knew, would not have wasted the time.

It was in that room where she revealed the elegant dress and fine undergarments packed across both saddlebags, as her grandfather would never accept a granddaughter dressed in common traveling clothes. In his home nobles were nobles and servants were servants; there was no in-between. Celia worked to prepare her, her fingers moving with an expert grace from tying the corset to twisting golden hair into a perfect Etruscan braid. They had not carried makeup, so Louise endured quick pinches along both cheeks in order to suffuse the appropriate blush to her cheeks before Celia stepped back, her dear friend's hazel eyes taking in the sight with a critical gaze.

"It will have to do," she said after a few moments, speaking in Etruscan as she normally did when in a thoughtful mood. "I'm not certain it is up to your grandfather's exacting standards, though..."

"But because you helped me, I know I must look perfect in everyone else's eyes," Louise said with a grin. A troubled look briefly crossed Celia's lovely face.

"It was not good enough for the Reglay nobles."

Louise's lips twisted as if she had tasted something tart. "Not even Lord Pent was. That was why..."

"Lady Louise, do you have the letter?"

Thankful for the interruption, Louise nodded. "I will write it immediately. Mother and Father will need to know, and after we arrive I know we will be separated."

Celia looked away, long, graceful fingers of one hand idly brushing her own copper locks behind her ears. "Physically, perhaps, but never in our hearts."

"Of course not," Louise said, reaching forward to embrace her dearest friend. Valiantly fighting her tears, she murmured, "That will never change, no matter what may come."

-0-

Mersey Manor was a short ride north from Aquleia, no more than an hour in the best of conditions. In the August heat, forced to ride side-saddle due to her long skirts, and burdening patient Marion with the weight of two, they arrived at the manor by late afternoon. Not long after they dismounted in front of the mansion several servants seemed to pour out of the servants' entryway and flow towards them. Louise shared a look with Celia, only to have it broken by one of the older manservants as he bowed to Louise. "Milady, your grandfather the duke requested your presence as soon as you arrived."

_Then Mother did write._ Smiling, she held out a hand to Celia. "Let us go, then." A shadowed look seemed to cross over the old servant's face at the words.

"He has only requested for you, milady."

Louise did not alter her smile, not by a single degree. "I'm aware," she said as Celia brought forth the unstrung bow, which had been tied to Marion's side during the ride over. Taking the simple iron bow from her dear friend's hands, the two placed kisses on each other's cheeks. "Sister of my heart," she whispered in Etruscan.

"Yes," Celia murmured, following her cue to the last. "You may count on me."

And then she backed away, following two maids towards the servants' entrance. With an acute sense of sorrow in her heart, Louise watched her go until Celia disappeared.

"Milady," the servant urged; to this, Louise let her gaze wander to the main entrance, where grand doors stood, carved from red oaks and polished until it had a shine not unlike those pieces of her mother's jewelry set with semi-precious stones like onyx or jade. This was the entrance for guests and family, all of whom who, in one sense or another, carried the blood of nobility as they crossed the threshold.

She could not help but hate the fact that her grandfather was so set in making a difference between herself and Celia.

Without a word, she walked to the entrance and then inside, ignoring everything but her beating heart as she followed the manservant to the room where her grandfather awaited her presence. Belatedly she realized that she had left her quiver in one of the saddlebags; she would have to retrieve it later. The bow, solid in her hand, was the important thing, if only to absorb the energy in her hands at her more nervous points.

Grandfather saw everything, after all.

Opening the door, the manservant announced, "Milord, your granddaughter has arrived."

"Send her in."

The words were spoken in a neutral tone, something that did not signal either way her grandfather's mood. She entered just as she was ordered, her back as straight as her mother had ever gotten it to be, her eyes set forward. Her grandfather sat on a simple antique chair, his presence looming over her though he had not done much more than aim his gaze at her. Controlling her breathing, Louise curtseyed as deeply as her knees would allow her before she straightened herself and awaited his orders.

"Your arms are too thick. Is that why you come here in such indecent dress?"

Louise did her best not to spare a glance at her outfit; other than the short, ruffled sleeves it was quite conservative in cut from collarbone to just at her ankles. Even the colors of it, dark and light purples mixed with brown, was very ordinary and unobtrusive, or so she thought. She could therefore only bow her head and speak in softer tones than what her throat normally allowed, "Forgive me, Grandfather. The heat has been overbearing." She did not reply to the first remark of his, knowing as well as he did that the bow in her hand answered that well enough.

"You may have found yourself good fortune in betrothal to a count, but now that he is dead do you think such slovenly dress would attract another highborn noble?"

She flinched. She did not mean to, but she did so all the same. He noticed this as he did every mistake and frowned.

"Sit down, Louise. I mean to ask you some questions."

There was an undecorated chaise lounge nearby his chair; she sat down there and laid her bow across her lap. "Yes, Grandfather."

Her grandfather looked at her and she held his gaze. Though he had been much aged since he finally retired from the position of Great General of Etruria nearly five years ago, there was still an immenseness about him, a greatness that time never forgot. It was every bit as solid as his own body, every bit as intimidating. His dark eyes, covered liberally by his iron-gray eyebrows, saw everything, and the mind behind them forgot nothing. Her mother had a complicated relationship with him, while her father a very uncomplicated one, but Louise herself could see the good in him, often tempered by a coldness that could be seen in her own mother at the worst of times.

Did that same coldness lurk inside her, despite her affinity and gentle care? It did scare Louise to think so, but she was beginning to understand that it may be the only way to save herself-to protect what mattered to her most.

"You rode here with your maid."

"I did."

"Was it a pleasant ride?"

"It was."

"Did you stay at the townhouse?"

"Yes."

"I trust you cleaned up after yourself."

"Of course."

Pleasantries done, her grandfather peered down upon her as his posture, always perfect, seemed now to be even straighter than the lances he always carried. "Why are you here? Your mother attributes nothing to you as far as your plans go, only that you wanted for some rest in a different landscape. But I do not care for letters arriving by hawk rather than a proper messenger, especially when you arrive not even two days later."

"Yes, Grandfather. I've come here to ask for your help."

"In what matter?"

"I would like to go to the Western Isles...Fibernia, to be exact."

There was a flicker of something in her grandfather's expression that disappeared nearly as soon as it had appeared. "The place where your fiancé died. You wish to see the place to end your grieving?"

"No, Grandfather. I wish..." She pressed her lips together, suddenly wanting for some water or tea. "I wish to save him."

"He is dead. If you wish to save his soul, you could do that well enough by praying at home."

"He is alive. I've discovered the proof of it."

Her grandfather had, at best, an expression of consternation that most showed along the deep wrinkles along his eyes and his mouth, what little there was not hidden by his full beard. "I do not pander to delusions," he warned. "Tell me the story and omit nothing, and I will decide what the truth is."

"Yes, Grandfather," she obeyed with ease, and then began to tell the story that had haunted her for months afterward, the memories that caused her heart to ache and fueled her body to develop her skills beyond what she had ever been capable of.

In short, the truth of Lord Pent's funeral.

-0-

Louise had not wanted to go to Lord Pent's funeral; she had barely wanted to leave her room at all. However, as Lord Pent's former fiancée, it had been required that she attend lest she dishonor both himself and herself. The devastation that had wracked her body in the days since she had learned the news of his death had weakened her mind sufficiently that dishonoring herself seemed acceptable, but she could never do ill to Lord Pent's memory.

Never.

Her mother went with her, as well as Celia and Lisette; her father opted to remain behind. Joshua only kissed her brow and told her to take care of herself, while her father seemed most reluctant to let her go; only after many assurances from her mother did he finally relent. After the journey, which took about the same amount of time though she wished to never arrive, they were admitted to Reglay Castle. It was there she discovered that the family whose claimant had won the right to become the new head of House Reglay was the lord of House Tilley, who had mistreated her and her friends just within the last year. Though it was a time of gloom, a time to respect the dead and honor Lord Pent's memory, the main family of House Tilley, particularly the niece who had been adopted into the family as the baron and baroness were childless, paraded about the castle with a glee that wounded Louise dreadfully to see it. That anyone at all could show joy at Lord Pent's death, particularly these people...it was a most terrible wound upon her heart. And then there was also...

"Ah, the former Lady Mersey."

Louise was tugged along as her mother whirled around in the empty hallway - they had been traversing its length in order to avoid the worst of the crowd, as advised by a somber Raike. It had taken a moment to reorient herself and wonder about the man who had hailed her mother, and why he looked so familiar. She could not recall it in her own memory until she had looked at her mother's profile and saw a tightness to that lovely face, a scene of hatred so vivid that she knew instantly she would cry if it were ever directed at her.

_That man is..._

A cruel twist of her lips distorted Louise's image of her mother, who was sometimes cold but never like this. "Amazing. And here I thought the servants would have swept away the dirt for their master's funeral, if nothing else."

"It is indeed interesting what they've allowed inside, considering your arrival," that man who was at the birthday party over a year ago responded, a crooked smile on his face. Despite his handsome face and extravagant style, the cut of his clothes indicating he was a highborn noble with military expertise, his cutting words struck Louise as being completely the opposite of his appearance. "But then, you would know all about laying in the dirt, wouldn't you, Catherine?"

Louise had started forward, the imprecation too much to bear, only to be stopped by the vise-like grip of her mother's hand on her arm. "Careful, Alfred," her mother seemed to purr, "we wouldn't want to sound like a hypocrite, would we? Because those clothes, as nice as they are, simply aren't up to the challenge of hiding the filth you're made from."

Cringing at the words that had come from her mother's mouth, Louise could only stand still, overtaken by a vague sense of horror. The only thing worse at the moment had been looking up only to find the nobleman's eyes upon her. "So this girl was the means to your resurrection, was she? Your kindling for the former Count Reglay's flames, and from the smoke a new 'Lady Catherine' would emerge?"

"You...please don't talk about my mother in such a way!" Louise had shouted. She felt her mother's grip slacken with shock and took full advantage of it, stepping forward as if to challenge him. "My mother would never use me, and Lord Pent is not the sort of man who would agree to such a thing. Lord Pent is far too considerate to do anything so sad...how can you say something like that inside his own home?"

The strange man's expression did not noticeably change, although there was something to his eyes that had made her wish for her bow; not to shoot it, of course not, but merely for the comfort of its weight in her hands. Then his smirk became a smile, though not a pleasant one. "You mean, was."

Louise had flinched back as if struck, the very words causing an involuntary reaction as tears came to her eyes. That her mother's arms came around her in the next moment did not save her from beginning to cry in front of the cruel man, and furthermore she had to bear the humiliation of her mother taking her place at the front while she was to remain cringing behind her mother like a child. "You'll regret those words, Alfred Minart," her mother had said with a disquieting calm. "I will destroy you and everything you've ever built up, just as you destroyed one of Etruria's most promising youths."

"Dangerous words, I would think," he had replied. "You don't fully understand your position compared to mine. In fact, Catherine, you understand so little that it's amazing you can even stand here before me, spitting your venom, without drowning in your own ignorance. I'm the knight general, I'm one of the king's most trusted advisors, I'm the son your father had always wanted, and you are nothing. You chose to be nothing, and you will soon come to understand just how powerless you truly are." The look he gave in that moment her mother was nothing short of horrendous, malevolence and pride both revealing themselves keenly upon his face. "And to think you would accuse me of such a thing when I had even purchased with my own money the lordling's casket. Now, any last witty repartees, Catherine?"

"...Louise, we'll be late to the service if we don't leave now," her mother had said. Trailing behind her mother, Louise noticed that her mother had refrained from even glancing in the man's direction before she turned around and headed to the chapel where the funerary service was to be held. That was the man her mother said had caused Lord Pent's death somehow...yet, she could feel her own powerlessness in his presence.

He was everything, and she nothing. There was no way to prove his hand had been the one to guide the forces that lead to Lord Pent's destruction.

The service had passed her by in a haze of prayers and songs, and by the end of it all Louise had wanted was to go back to her room and cry. That desperate need to hold back was the only thing that had saved her, for she knew if she let herself indulge in her grief now she would never stop, not even with the audience in attendance. It had been for her mother's sake she held back, knowing that her mother had patiently borne her terrible surges of grief since that dreadful day and would prefer a break from them, as well as the fact that it would embarrass her mother were she to let go of her good sense now.

Lord Pent, too...she had never cried in front of Lord Pent, even when she had deserved to at that time when he revealed that he was to go so far away from her; now, now it seemed improper to cry when all there was to comfort her was his coffin. The chapel had emptied quickly after the priest's last words, for even in their funerary services Tower Elimineans were altogether too brief. She hated this, for Lord Pent deserved more, so much more, but she also had to admit a certain measure of comfort, for she had dearly wanted to be alone with him.

Just him and her, just like it had been once upon a time.

She told her mother her wishes and her mother had complied, getting rid of anyone else who would be an audience to her daughter's grief. The priest and his assistants had only been too happy to go, and so too a handful of servants who had come to peer upon their master's coffin before it was interred in the family mausoleum. Then and only then had Louise been alone. Approaching the coffin in front of the chapel altar with a timidity she had felt Lord Pent would have laughed at her for were he alive, she had laid her hands upon it and found it was cold, so cold. It was a modern coffin, made of the finest metal and with a silver rendition of Saint Elimine upon its lid. She had wondered if Lord Pent would have approved such a thing; he had loved magic so much that even she would have preferred seeing his beloved anima drawings (which he had drawn for her in some of his letters when she had asked to learn its symbology) upon his resting place rather than even an assurance that he would be taken to God's country.

Of course he would, she knew. Lord Pent is - had been such a good person. So good...

With a hand still laid upon the sleek lid, she had begun to walk the perimeter of the coffin just as it was proper for Lighter Elimineans to do; saying goodbye close to the departed rather than at a distance like the Tower Elimineans advocated. She fought her tears when the knowledge that this was the only closeness they had now, in these few moments, had pricked at her mind. Unfortunately she could not trust her voice at the moment, so she could not even sing a hymn for him. When she had reached the other side of where she had begun, she stopped as a shudder ran down her body with a ferocity that could not be denied. It was a precursor to her breaking down utterly, and though she tried to stave it off she could feel an enormous pressure within her to throw aside the tattered remains of her dignity and cry.

That was when it had happened: a queer feeling overcame her, but she knew her own emotions intimately enough to know that this was, rather, an outside influence. It had not been too powerful nor malevolent, but it was foreign and she had nearly panicked until the thought occurred to her in the rush of her mad wonderings that it might be a message - a message from the Voice of God, Saint Elimine. Then she had calmed, or tried to, and let these odd emotions wash over her like cold water. There had been the feeling of cold winds, which caused her to shiver, a feeling of being enclosed by the natural darkness, there was...there was...

_sadness loneliness regret_

"Who?" she had whispered.

_desperation fear_

Trembling, she fell to her knees, wide-eyed and staring at nothing as the last feelings caressed her.

_warmth happiness louise i_

And then it was gone.

"...That was...that was Lord Pent..."

Those had not been her feelings, they had been his. Somehow, despite their distance, despite his death, his feelings had reached her.

She had risen on unsteady feet and stared at the coffin. On this side she could see latches. In that moment, her skin still humming with Lord Pent's presence, she could not be blamed for what she had done.

She had reached out and undone them.

_Lord Pent, although I know it will be a terrible sight, let me at least say goodbye this way. Even if this is blasphemy, even if I am destroying everything good in this moment, let me say goodbye this way._

She had opened the coffin.

_What...what is this?_

It had taken her a moment to understand what she was looking at as she peered inside the coffin, but once she did she had only stared harder, perplexed.

_Aren't these...stones?_

They had been five in number, good-sized stones wrapped in some wool and paper. She had picked one up and tapped it against the inside of the metal coffin, frowning at the dull sound emitted. It had been heavy and with obvious sides, so it wouldn't roll; furthermore, if it had, the sound would be muffled and not attract undue attention.

_But where's Lord Pent's body?_

She had almost considered that they couldn't find one and that was the reason for this farce, but then she had realized what it meant if they could not find the body. And then that man's words had come back to her-

_And to think you would accuse me of such a thing when I had even purchased with my own money the lordling's casket_

-and then she had known there was no body. Lord Pent was alive.

-0-

"...I knew no one would believe me if I dared say such a thing. It would be considered the ramblings of a lost woman, and I did not want that. I decided to bid my time until I could go for myself to see with my own eyes the truth of the Western Isles, but Mother and Father are planning to send me to Missur as an enforced vacation. That was when I knew I had to leave, and do it quickly."

Her grandfather, who had not shown a single decipherable emotion during her story, scoffed at this. "Why not tell your parents? They would believe their only child."

Louise stared at the bow laying demurely on her lap. "I'm afraid not. My father would probably not hear anything beyond my opening Lord Pent's casket, and that would only hasten my trip to Missur, or a convent. Mother may believe me, but I think it would only bring enmity between them were I to come out with this story."

"So you came to me, as if I would be more receptive to your...tale."

"Yes, Grandfather. I assumed you would almost have to be."

"Why?"

"Because it concerns your protégé."

He seemed to consider her for a moment. "And what if I took you for a madwoman and forcibly sent you back to those parents of yours?"

"I...don't think you would do so, Grandfather," Louise murmured. "This is a matter of honor. You were never the type to shrink back, not when you could discover the truth with your own eyes."

No words passed between them for the rest of the day; he did not even invite her to have dinner with him. She found time to retrieve her quiver from Celia, and ate very little within the confines of her room.

Two days of fretful anxiety later, a servant led her to the front grounds of the manor, where an outfitted carriage drawn by four horses awaited her. Her grandfather's face was stern, but he helped her into the carriage without a word regarding either her bow or her quiver, and, after he entered the carriage, directed the driver to head north to the port town of Piraeus.

The supply port to the Western Isles.

-end-

The climax of the second half of Bouquet is here! For those of you who have noticed the change (or rather reversion) of the title, I decided I wasn't feeling it enough to keep it. Plus, it doesn't match up to a later project's title as I would have liked, so it was necessary. The de-capitalization looks somewhat cute to me; maybe I should do this to all my single-word titles? The second half of this story will be up on 6/28, so thank you for reading and I hope you'll be looking forward to the other half!


	25. Full Bloom, part 2

Bouquet

(C) Intelligent Systems and Nintendo

-0-

Full Bloom, part two: Coltsfoot  
(_justice be done_)

Pent was feeling content, basking in the midday sun as he rubbed his smooth jawline. It was the first time he had shaved in five days - although he hadn't needed it for the first two - and he had to admit that he simply felt more like himself once he was able to perform his toilet, meager as it was on an island far away from home and lacking those noble duties that required him to look immaculate. In a group of men it was almost mandatory to let go of some of his fastidiousness, but considering his hair color he thought it best to ward off any jokes about being an 'old man', if for nothing else than because he would like to retain some respect.

For once, the camp was quiet; anyone with a chore to perform was supposedly out doing it, while everyone still in the camp stayed within their tents and napped away the noontime heat. He was the only one outside, which allowed him to commune with the spirits of nature, few though they were in this place. One brushed across his cheek as a slight breeze and he smiled. Yes, he may have lost his life while still existing in this world, but on a day like this when the next battle seemed so far off and he could indulge in communing with the spirits, he could almost accept his lot in the world.

Then the man walked into the camp.

Pent climbed to his feet with an ease that belied his natural anxiety at seeing a stranger in the camp, warily gazing at the newcomer without making a move that suggested he felt threatened. He was still deciding whether he should be; the man wore the uniform of a high-ranking Etrurian soldier, though he had no armor. Perhaps he was an aide to a ranking officer, but which one? Pent could only remember the lieutenant-general of the magic branch of the military, and that man was not her. If this man was the knight general's, then Pent knew this could become a worse-case scenario in an instant.

The man looked around, clearly unimpressed, then settled his gaze upon Pent. "Your defense is shoddy."

"The resistance group prefers attacking during the evening, and with everything that has happened I hadn't expected anyone to arrive from the shore," Pent said mildly.

"If they are unable to withstand the heat, why not use this weakness to destroy them in their dens?"

"Our orders were to defend Etrurian interests," Pent stated, fresh annoyance causing him to frown. "They were not to annihilate our opposition indiscriminately."

"I see you follow your orders to the letter," the aide said. "You are Pent Martel, the former Count Reglay?"

"I am. And you are?"

"An aide for the man who wishes to see you." The aide gestured towards the shoreline. "We'll be traversing the strait, so I suggest you inform your comrades."

Pent paused, his natural sense of suspicion growing - he felt he would be a fool to trust without reservation, but there was more than that. "Exactly who do you work for? I know you belong to the military."

"And that is all you need to know. I was ordered to escort you, not to provide all the information you demand. All I can say is that he is your ally for as long as you do not cross him."

"Would I be able to bring another with me?"

"No."

Closing his eyes, Pent brought his hand to his forehead, fingers pressing the bridge of his nose. It did not help him think with more clarity, nor did the aide's obvious signs of impatience as the other man shifted his weight from one leg to another. "It would be difficult to agree. My life is not only mine; I have to think about the men I lead as well. If you intend to harm me, let me warn you that I will not succumb easily."

The aide only blinked at these words. "I would hope so, Captain. Now, will you go?"

"Let me 'inform my comrades', as you put it," Pent said with the barest hint of humor before he left the aide, walking swiftly towards the tents of his sub-leaders. Kellis was out, ostensibly supervising the water-gathering group, but Henri only nodded thoughtfully when Pent came upon him, his blue eyes still bleary with the remnants of his nap. Pent also had the forethought of informing Simon as well, who only nodded, though his eyes were much sharper. Though Pent wasn't sure what to make of that, he let the priest be before departing with the military aide. The seafaring vessel obtained for their use was no boat but just a skiff, easily maneuverable over the calm waves that comprised the strait; low tide being what it was, Pent hardly had a fear of being splashed as the skiff skimmed over the lazy rolling of the passage waters. They arrived on the beach of the mainland in very little time, though there was still an entire cliff to climb, as the aide stated that the man he served preferred this little-used locale rather than the small port town of Piraeus adjacent to it.

Pent only raised an eyebrow at this, wondering if this man truly intended to appear this suspicious or if it was simply an ill-timed fluke. If it was the latter, it was quite impressive in its own way.

Rude formations that could only be described as a rudimentary staircase had been carved into the rock at a sideways angle, parallel to the face of the cliff. It didn't resemble Etrurian design; Pent remembered from his history lessons that the berserkers of the Western Isles had attempted many times in centuries past to invade Etruria. Perhaps this was from one of those attempts. He could only imagine fishermen using it now as a way to avoid the larger ships at the docks. Making his way to the stairs, he noticed that the military assistant wasn't following him. "Won't you be presenting me to your superior?" Pent asked.

The aide shook his head. "He told me this was to be a private meeting. I will tend to the boat."

This did little to quell his suspicions, but Pent decided it would make it easier for him if he didn't feel he had to defend his back. At a time like this he wished for Nestor's presence, though thankfully the man was serving guard duty back at the camp, which allowed Pent to worry only about himself at the moment. While the military aide didn't wear the crest of the hibiscus that was the knight general's family emblem, Pent had also noticed the other man only wore the insignia of the Etrurian military - in other words, he could never be traced back to the actions of his superior.

Why?

For all his thoughts - perhaps paranoia, if only the last eight months hadn't put the lie to that - about danger awaiting him at the top of the cliff, it was surprising devoid of anything threatening, unless one found sparse summer grass a credible threat. There was a carriage in the distance, and there was someone departing from it, and...?

Pent stilled. He had not noticed any particular degradation of his eyesight, which had always been excellent, but perhaps he would be the last to know about such a thing. This had to be true, because what he was seeing couldn't possibly exist. No matter how much he wanted it to, he was dead to Etruria now.

He was dead to her now.

This is what he believed, but the figure rapidly approaching him had hair the color of the most vivid, blinding gold, and the closer she got the more the flimsy outline of months of thoughts, fantasies, and dreams became solid and filled in with the vibrancy that only belonged to her - _her_.

"Louise," he whispered, and never had such a utterance held such a tangible weight on his tongue.

She stopped mere feet from him, looking up at him with such a sense of expectancy that he was frozen by it. The last fourteen months had changed her for the better in his eyes; there was a maturity to her face that he hadn't remembered from before, a lessening of baby fat that revealed the softly graceful curves of her cheekbones. Yet, he could tell by the brightness of her gaze - lavender eyes more vivid in color than any bloom he had seen among the tangled weed-like grass of his campsite - and the eagerness of her smile that she was still the same, wonderful girl he had missed so much. The bow in her hand and the quiver slung along the hip of her elegant, muted dress proved this more than anything else.

Perhaps he had been staring too long, because the expression on her face was dulling in shades, which in turn confused him. "Lord Pent," she said, and he could have sworn that something inside him actually fluttered at the sound of her voice, "it's...I have...you don't seem very, um, pleased to see me..."

He blinked at this; considering that she had the benefit of surprise, he felt he was entitled to his current speechless state. But someone like Louise thrived on emotion, on the giving and receiving of it, and he understood that he could stand to be more effusive at such a time. And, as well, he had been thinking of doing this for too long.

Crossing the few feet between them, he embraced her.

It was no surprise to him when she stiffened in his very light hold; he had not wanted to startle her, but perhaps he was being too forward? He knew he was not being any more considerate of her when he lowered his head to murmur, "This may be unpleasant to you, and I apologize, but please allow me this much for just a moment," so it was interesting to him when she relaxed afterward despite his forwardness. It was when she leaned into him and wrapped her own arms around his waist just as lightly as his arms wound around her shoulders that he felt...strange. Happy, he supposed.

"It's fine, Lord Pent," she murmured back, "Thank you..."

He hardly believed he was owed any gratitude, but he had no interest in challenging her words; this moment did not deserve the interruption. All he wanted was to drown in the sensation of her body in his arms, from her soft hair against the side of his face to the curves of her body pressed against him to the feel of her hands against his back. Holding, being held...certainly he had felt the spiritual equivalent when communing with the spirits in Etruria, but to readily experience another person in this way deified description. It felt like something he had experienced long, long ago, something that had seeped into his body's memory and was now reawakened - he, perhaps, had reawakened.

Yes, this feeling was not new. It only had been rediscovered and it was..._she_ was...

Indescribable. All of it, everything.

Separating from her had to happen eventually, but he let his hands linger just along her elbows in a light hold as he looked down at her - she had grown taller, the top of her head up to his chin, but she was still charmingly petite. Her hands were on his forearms, not any more willing to completely let go than he was, and that too was very charming. "Louise, I have to admit that I'm surprised to see you here. I'm aware of my current status in Etruria," he said, willing himself to focus and get to the heart of the situation.

Her brow furrowed at his words, a determined look on her face now. "I know, but I knew you were alive."

"How long have you known this?"

"...Since your funeral." Something seemed to occur to her, as her eyes widened afterward and she quickly said, "But I spent all my time preparing to come here! I never meant to leave you here, I-"

"I'm not angry," he hurried to reassure her, surprised at her sudden burst of emotion. "You came here, and that is enough."

Her eyes lowered to his coat. "I should have come here sooner, but no matter how hard I trained it didn't feel nearly enough. Your feelings told me that it was very difficult here and that you suffered greatly, so I wanted to make sure I could be the equal of that."

"My feelings?" he asked. Looking up at him again, her vivid eyes held something strange there, almost reverent.

"Yes. When I was overtaken by despair, your feelings came to me and helped me find the power to unlock the truth." This admission surprised him; he vaguely remembered asking the spirits to send his feelings to her at a time when he had no hope left. However, the powers of the spirits in the Western Isles must be even dimmer than he had imagined if it had taken them months to reach her.

"Unlock the truth?"

"I opened your coffin," she clarified. He knew his surprise that Louise, of all people, would commit such sacrilege shouldn't curl into amusement, but it did; possibly he would feel differently were he actually dead, but all he could feel right now was relief that whatever she saw led her here.

"In front of the entire service?"

She smiled slightly at this. "If I had, then everyone could be persuaded the truth. The knight general put rocks in a coffin he had bought and claimed they were your remains." There was anger, real anger, in Louise's expression as her hands gripped his arms with a surprising strength. "Lord Pent, the knight general plotted everything against you! He-"

"I know, Louise," he said with a quietness that in turn stilled her words. "I know."

"He did it as revenge against Mother."

"No, at least, not completely. He did it because I defied him."

"How?" she asked, a clear innocence to her lovely features that made something inside of him ache to see it. It made him feel glad that he could say the next words to that beautiful face and see the purity of whatever her reaction would be.

"Because I wanted to stay with you."

Her mouth made a perfect little 'O' of what he supposed was surprise - he was being awfully bold, but he felt he deserved the right. His time separated from her taught him that only a fool would come away from the experience with his feelings locked down and hidden from those he cared about. To live like Louise did, with her emotions always readily available for others to see, seemed like it could lead to painful experiences, but she had the strength to live by her convictions without hiding them away. He truly admired that, and he would be a poor example of a man to refuse to reciprocate as much as he could.

Besides, she had come to the far reaches of Etruria to find him. With that in mind, a confession such as his would not fall on deaf ears.

A blush suffused her cheeks as she smiled at him, though she wouldn't quite meet his eyes as she said, "Y-yes. I...I also want the same."

To actually hear the words directed towards him was far more satisfying that the assumption of her feelings, and Pent smiled in response. "I'm glad," was all he could think of saying, and perhaps that was enough, for her smile rivaled the sun in its sheer vivacity. He hated to dim her smile, but he had to ask the next question on his mind. "Louise, how did you get here?"

"Ah, my grandfather. Actually," she continued, her smile lessening, "he's waiting for us. He wanted to talk with you."

"Well, let's not keep him waiting," Pent replied, releasing his tentative hold on her in favor of taking her hand in his. He remembered the sensation of walking hand-in-hand with her, and to recover the experience of it made him smile as they headed towards the carriage where her grandfather awaited them. He had no idea as to the character of her grandfather, but he reasoned that the man had to have something of a good temperament, considering that he came with his granddaughter to this place to seek a 'dead man'. Something bothered him about his assessment and he ignored it, because he felt so, so close to a satisfying conclusion for himself and his men.

It was when he laid eyes on the man that Pent began to rethink his optimism, as Louise's grandfather looked down on him with dark eyes and an impassive face that suggested he thought very little about Pent. When Louise introduced her grandfather as, "Duke Mersey, the former Great General of Etruria," Pent realized that Lady Catherine had once told him that her father had once brought an armed expedition down to Alloway to bring her back, striking down her new husband and only turning back when Count Alloway brought his own forces to bear. All this, for the sake of the man the duke considered a son...the current Knight General of Etruria.

Suddenly, Pent was unsure about the man's willingness to decide anything in his favor.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Lord Yossas," Pent said after the introductions were finished. "What did you have to speak with me about?"

Louise's grandfather ignored him for his granddaughter. "Louise, wait in the carriage. This business does not concern you." Pent could feel Louise loosen her grip, but he only tightened his as he kept his eyes on the duke.

"I apologize, but I would prefer she stays. As her fiancé, I feel it does concern her as she has valuable information regarding this whole ordeal."

"You are a dead man to Etruria," the duke said. "That means you no longer have a claim to her."

"I'm not dead and have never been. Claims aside, Louise knows as much about the situation and I feel it would be best if she were present," Pent replied in clipped tones, annoyed. Her grandfather only shrugged, as if none of his words mattered, which only served to irritate Pent further. Turning to Louise, he asked her, "What would you like to do?"

There was a queer uncertainty to her manner, so at odds with her usual robust earnestness, that he found himself displeased even when her answer was, "I'd like to stay," in a quiet voice that had all the force of falling leaves in autumn. In the presence of her grandfather Louise became less than she was, what Pent knew her to be, and he had to wonder if he wasn't the cruel one by keeping her nearby.

Her grandfather ignored her; Pent could see it happen with only a flicker of the elderly man's gaze, which was now entirely directed at him. "What do you believe to be the cause of your current situation?" the duke asked, his tone suggesting that Pent couldn't ever really know the truth behind it. Unimpressed, Pent sought to keep his voice mild and emotionless in an effort to restrain himself as he answered the question set before him.

"I believe that the knight general has knowingly contributed to the ordeal my men and I have suffered since January of this year by failing to bring reinforcements after the death of our commander, then refusing to acknowledge our existence by no longer sending supplies to our location. I believe this is because, in part, he was aiding my political enemies in Reglay by assuring that I would no longer return, allowing a claimant with a weak tie to House Reglay to succeed my position as Count Reglay."

"And what would he get out of such an alliance?"

Pent frowned, knowing that the answer was beyond him other than conjectures, but he was saved by Louise's soft voice. "Because he hates Mother, and he hates me as well," she answered. "He told Mother that she should understand that he is everything as far as the kingdom goes, and she is nothing. And...I heard a rumor."

"I do not deal in such unreliable things," her grandfather warned, and whatever comfort Pent derived from hearing Louise's voice was immediately banished. He could feel Louise squeeze his hand, perhaps wanting his attention, and he squeezed back and hoped that the action comforted her.

"The former steward of Reglay Castle wrote to me a couple months ago after he settled in his new situation at Caerleon Castle. In passing, he had heard that the knight general's son would be formally announcing his engagement to the niece of Baron Tilley, who was adopted as his daughter, so..." When Louise glanced at him, Pent could see something hesitant and sad in the way her mouth was set. "The knight general's son will then be the next Count Reglay."

The news caused a silence that Pent thought was at least partially in amazement at the sheer nerve of these people. Glancing at Louise's grandfather told him that the man had no idea of this plan, not because of any betrayal of surprise but rather how entirely his expression had shut down, as if it was a wall to all the feelings that dwelt in his heart and mind. He had probably been an excellent great general during his reign, but now as a man living in his retirement it seemed that having such a severe attitude towards life would be more a detriment than a useful quality. But any sense of pity for the man was stopped short when Pent realized something in Louise's narrative. "What do you mean that Raike is now working for Count Caerleon?" he inquired.

"Shortly after Baron Tilley took your position, Master Raike was let go and someone else was placed as the steward," Louise replied, looking troubled. "He wasn't inclined to leave because of his family and his house were all settled and he was able to find work in the mercantile district, but then the city guard started harassing him and Madame Amy over her pegasus, about needing a special license to own one and questioning her loyalties, so they had to move. I asked Nella if she knew of a clerical position in Caerleon and she was able to take in Master Raike and his family, but it's still sad. He wrote that his family had lived in Reglay since they immigrated from Lycia generations ago, and his mother is especially distraught about having to move."

"But you did them an excellent service by securing a position for him," Pent reminded her. "And, as this seems to bear repeating, I'm not dead. Raike and his family will be able to return once I've been legally recognized again."

Louise grinned. "That's true. How wonderful!"

"Before you get carried away, there are still the terms of your return to consider," Louise's grandfather said. Pent stared at him, confused.

"What sort of terms would I need? This is all the fault of a conspiracy of which I and my men are blameless for."

"More or less," her grandfather intoned. "But I will be the one who decides that."

"Grandfather?" Louise questioned, her profile a study in incomprehension. Pent squeezed her hand again, but her grip only seemed to slacken further. This strange behavior from her could only be addressed by bringing his attention to her grandfather, despite the fact that the elderly duke seemed not to grant others that same consideration.

"What are your terms?"

"In exchange for your silence regarding the alleged truth of your detainment, I will have you and the rest of your forces escorted from the island and returned to their homes."

Pent said nothing for a long moment - he was too appalled to do so. To be forced to bargain for what he and his men rightfully deserved was terrible enough, but for the knight general to be allowed to escape from his many crimes in exchange was simply beyond him. How could he even consider such a thing? He and everyone else had suffered so much because of this one man, and now he was to agree to...to this?

He couldn't. He simply couldn't, even knowing what would happen if he refused. To rot away on that island, utterly abandoned by his country, until an inevitable death in battle...that would be his only expectation should he refuse, and yet it was the only option in line with his values. Glancing at Louise was a secret torture he allowed himself, knowing that to refuse would be to give her up forever, yet he could not help himself any more than his body could avoid food and water.

"Grandfather, why would you...how could you do such a thing? I trusted you to help..." Louise spoke, breaking the long silence between the three of them. The very sound of heartbreak was in her voice, and hearing it made something shift inside Pent's mind.

He never wanted to hear her voice sound like that again.

"I require help in return," her grandfather said. "Were the news of this to get out, the people would lose their confidence in not only the Three Generals, but perhaps even the king himself. That would be unacceptable."

"What is unacceptable is to hide the truth of the evils done by any member of the royal court, including the generals," Pent pointed out. "As a knight, you swore certain oaths to both king and country, and disregarding them now for the sake of protecting someone who willingly threw away his own oaths is asinine at best. At worst, it is an action that only proves that Etruria has no right to consider itself a holy kingdom in the following of the saint." Pent could feel his anger rising with every word he said, realizing more and more with every word exactly how terrible the entire situation was. It was that anger that made him demand of the man in front of him, "What would be worth throwing away your honor in such a manner?"

Louise's grandfather was looking down his nose at Pent before he'd even finished talking, and that, combined with the older man's naturally imperious nature, only worked at frustrating Pent further. "It is no such thing," her grandfather stated. "I am offering this deal to you in good faith. If you cannot accept that, then you must know that you are dooming the rest of your men to an ignoble fate. Justice is not about wanton destruction for the sake of revenge."

"And then?" Pent questioned, unable to hide the slight disgust in his tone. "What will you do, should I agree?"

"I will talk to him," the older man declared.

"And?"

"That is all you need to know. It has nothing to do with you."

"It has everything to do with me!" The words burst forth without encountering even a hint of Pent's normal standards of self-control, and he felt no shame in it. "Hasn't anything either of us have said registered at all? That man hasn't committed these crimes out of altruism - he is benefiting in every possible way he can from his actions! If this is not something that should be brought before the king and punished, then what is? Is your friendship with him worth everything Etruria purports itself to be?"

With a short sigh, more of an exasperated huff than one of exhaustion, Louise's grandfather only shook his head. "Perhaps it would be best if you did not return. A count should be more reasonable than a boy throwing temper tantrums. Certainly I would not sanction my granddaughter's marriage to you, after seeing what a poor example of a man you have shown today. Well? What is your final decision?"

Pent did not hesitate. "Your deal is unacceptable and should never have been uttered in the first place. It lowers all of us to have even heard it. I refuse."

"Thank you." To Louise, her grandfather nodded. "Come here. You have much to answer for, requesting that I do so much for such an unworthy boy."

Steeling his heart for the inevitable separation, Pent found it almost difficult to breathe when Louise instead gripped his hand with a surprising strength even for an archer. "I'm not going, Grandfather."

"I shouldn't have to tell you twice-"

"Then please do not. Everything I've done was to reach Lord Pent. If he is staying, then I will too."

"You foolish girl-"

"I don't believe so, not in this case." Pent caught the strained look she gave him before she returned her attention to her grandfather. "Celia, my maid, is already returning to Alloway with a letter I wrote. It's addressed to Mother, and in it there are details of every proof I have regarding the conspiracy against Lord Pent. She will have to believe it, because I will be with him. Mother is already writing something that promises to ruin the knight general for good, and this will only spur her forward. Celia is to wait a week before she gives Mother this letter, Grandfather."

Her grandfather only crossed his arms. "And will ruining everything satisfy you, Granddaughter?"

"No, it wouldn't. But the fact that I have planned this much...doesn't that tell you how little I think of your willingness to choose the right path? Doesn't that show that I fully believe you would pick the man you think of as a son over your trueborn daughter?" Louise looked down; to Pent, she looked as though she were reaching the end of her limits, though he had the feeling that she could go much further if she had to. "I don't want to call home an Etruria that has forgotten Saint Elimine's words. Not anymore."

"And so it is more Eliminean to run off to a foreign land with a man who is not your husband."

"Actually," Pent interjected, "there is a priest with our company. He will marry us, if it comes to that. But, speaking respectfully, it doesn't have to. That is up to you to decide what is more important, whether it is family and personal honor, or the friendship of a man who destroys because he can and seeks to gain in any way he can from his malicious actions. All we can do is follow our own path, no matter where you intend to go." This was the right place to end, no other words were necessary, but Pent was compelled to add something further, something that he had recognized at the time his father's crime had been revealed to him. "I heard you consider the knight general as your own son. If this is the case, and you have worked to instill within him your morals and deeds, then as his father you must also take responsibility for him when he goes astray. That would be no different for a child should their parent do wrong, for a parent and a child enriches each other through their shared bond. If one commits a crime, then the other can only strive to be the better person and work harder to restore the other's name...if only for their own peace of mind. Therefore, I ask you not to take responsibility for him not for the sake of us, but for yourself."

The one thing Pent was fully aware of in the silence that followed was the pressure of Louise's hand in his. Between their hands was a heartbeat, their shared heartbeat, as if the two of them were for once in time with the other. There was no separation, no awkwardness of their earlier times nor the physical distance; there was only him and her, Pent and Louise. It was a very strange thing to realize, but it gave him great comfort at a moment like this.

He wasn't alone.

So he held her hand and she held his, and they waited. Louise's grandfather looked no more troubled than he had before, but Pent could sense that the elderly man was bothered. Was it that yet another family member was willing to challenge him over essentially the same man? Was it Louise's plan, and his own acceptance of it? Whatever it was, Pent did feel a measure of pity for him because he could not understand the man. Was his need for a son so overwhelming that he would forsake his daughter and granddaughter for it? His own knightly vows to be true to Etruria?

When her grandfather finally said, "I will make the arrangements for your forces to be brought back to Etruria," Pent released the breath he hadn't even been aware of holding. They were all going home - thank God. Thank God. He looked at Louise and found she was staring up at him with eyes shining with a peculiar wetness, to which he could only smile because, well, he was feeling sufficiently overwhelmed too.

"Thank you, sir," Pent said, meaning every word. Louise's grandfather only nodded at him before returning to the carriage. To Louise, who he had too many words to say and not enough - never enough - time to say them all, he said, "Louise, you're incredible."

"He was more convinced by your last words, Lord Pent," she said with a giggle he suspected was borne out of a rush of relief. "You're different but the same."

"The same could be said of you," he replied, lightly touching the fringe of her bangs with his unoccupied left hand. She giggled harder.

"But I like your long hair."

He withdrew his hand in favor of his own hair, which hung down his neck and continually annoyed him. "You have strange tastes," he informed her with a smile. In response, she looked surprised for a moment before she pouted.

"It does look good. But if it gets in your way..." She let go of his hand and reached behind her head, extracting a long white ribbon from her elaborate hairstyle. This caused the length of her golden hair to fall over her shoulders and back like some sort of fantastical waterfall, but she didn't seem to notice as she held out the ribbon to him. "Here, Lord Pent. For now, you can borrow this."

"Yes," he said, "I intend to be returning home soon, so for now I'll take care of it for you." He took the ribbon from her hand and tied it around his hair in a similar fashion to how some of the men in the company wore theirs; the only thing he could say was that it bothered the back of his neck less, and that was good enough. "Thank you."

"No, it's fine..." Hesitation was plain on her face for a long moment before she reached forward and gave him a quick hug, then withdrew before he could properly return it. It was slightly disappointing, but the bright smile she gave him afterward more than made up for it. "I have to go, but I'll see you soon. Grandfather never dishonors a promise."

He nodded. "Until then, Louise."

He stayed there for some time after she entered the carriage and it began to drive off, watching it grow smaller and smaller, before he made his way down to the isolated beach where the skiff was kept. He wondered what he was going to say to his men, if he should explain the circumstances that had kept them away from any news of their families for so long, how he would answer their questions...

Or, he thought as he absently brought his fingers to his lips to find a smile there, perhaps it would be enough for them to see him like this. All that mattered in the end was the essential truth.

They were going home.

-end-

Nothing much to say. To answer a question that seems to be on everybody's mind, there are two more stories, and then a one-shot at the end. Thank you for reading, and the next story comes out on 7/12!

To avidlearner1: I do appreciate your review and your kind words, but I'm not sure what to say about your advice. I do not believe that extended use of 'similes, metaphor, personification elements' and so on necessarily enriches a story, as some of the very worse published fiction I have ever read overused them to the point of the deepest purple. Writing is, by necessity, a very subjective act, and what works for you may have already been tried by me and rejected years ago because it did not suit the development of my natural writing style. This is why, while I respect your opinion, I am uncomfortable in assuming it for myself. Thank you for your kindness to me.


	26. Firewood for Winter

Bouquet

(C) Intelligent Systems and Nintendo

-0-

Firewood for Winter: Jonaquil, Fleur-de-lis  
(_i burn with affection returned_)

It was good to be home again, Pent reflected as he admired his office, now finally returned to its original condition from before House Tilley invaded his ancestral home. When they had finally vacated the premises in October, it was discovered that a number of rooms, including his office and bedroom, had fallen into considerable disrepair, the kind that did not happen by any natural means of mere abandonment. Once he had rehired all the old servants as well as some new ones to take care of the mess, he had spent the majority of his time in Aquleia working in his old townhouse alongside Raike and the rest of Castle Reglay's law clerks as they all tried to make sense of the financial and legal incursions made during his 'death'; the king had been adamant that he wanted full records, as he would be basing his decision whether to strip Baron Tilley of his noble powers on them.

By no means did the baron leave with any sense of grace in regards to any bit of Reglay, house or castle - it was already February and there were still questions on certain sums of money. Pent was tempted to hand over what had already been completed and request that the king's retainers do the rest, but this sort of work made him feel more like a count; that is, it was a very different life compared to the rigors of the time he had spent on the Western Isles, and with each successful task in this new-old-life he remembered a little more the purpose he had been born to do.

Lord Pent, Count Reglay. He remembered a time when he had wanted to do nothing more than to deny his birthright.

"Lord Pent," Raike called as he entered the room, a stack of papers in his arms, "here are the license renewals for each of the wineries. I've also had a couple clerks research any influxes in their records over the past year for the sake of a more thorough review."

Glancing behind him, where the large windows stood in all their full glory, Pent studied the road that led to the castle proper. Other than a few guards, there was nothing of interest. "Well then," he said as he turned away and approached his desk, placing a hand on the back of his chair as he looked at the papers Raike was now separating into small piles, "did you find anything particularly suspicious? We'll look at those first."

Raike looked up from his task with a slight smile on his face, his complexion clear of the blotches that told his emotions better than his expressions ever could. "Very good, milord. Actually, I did find some oddities in the records of Rhine Wineries. Now, if you'll take a seat, I'll go over the basic points..."

As they began to pore over the pages and pages of notes regarding each of Reglay County's vineyards and wineries, Pent studied the man before him. He had never doubted Raike's loyalty - the man had proven himself unquestionable in that aspect - but it had still been a surprise to find Raike loitering in front of the palace after Pent had been welcomed back in early September, though his legal status was still in murky waters at that time.

_"Raike? What are you doing here?"_

_"I've been waiting here for you. I was sent here by Count Caerleon to run a number of errands, and I heard that you came to the palace on a daily basis. If I may, I would like to ask you a question."_

_"Yes?"_

_"What do you intend to do now?"_

_"After my title is returned to me, I would like to establish a number of reforms to Reglay."_

_"So you will be challenging the baron? I see. Then please, allow me to assist you as your clerk again."_

_"Why not as my steward?"_

_"...Well, my wife will only allow it if you give me a raise."_

_"That's fine. Once you've settled your affairs with Count Caerleon, return here and we'll work on the legalities before us."_

"Lord Pent?"

His reverie interrupted, Pent merely blinked. "Yes?"

"If you're going to daydream, can you not stare at me while you do so?" Raike insisted, the darkening blotches on his cheeks betraying his bland expression. Pent smiled slightly as he shifted his gaze to the wall on his left.

"Pardon me."

"You really should focus, though. I thought you wanted to finish everything before Lady Louise arrived?"

Pent knew he grimaced a little in response, because Raike was giving him something of a sympathetic look when he looked at his steward out of the corner of his eye. Raising his head from his hand, he straightened his posture and picked up his pen. Yet, instead of continuing the arduous task of signing his name on the ordinances before him, Pent asked, "Why did you find me in Aquleia?"

Raike looked at him, then past him. "Reglay is my home. I was only able to go to university in Aquleia thanks to your father's kindness. My parents lived and worked here all their lives, my sons were born here, and my father is buried here. I didn't intend to leave in the first place, and while Caerleon is nice, the count there is far more concerned with his family than his county. I want to serve a lord who isn't just satisfied with maintaining the status quo but builds upon it and improves his lands for everyone."

"I don't know if I can match your expectations," Pent answered with complete honesty. To this, Raike smiled.

"It's enough that you try. I don't want Etruria to grow stagnant. I want-"

There was a knock at the door, and both men looked at it. From the other side, a maid's voice could be heard. "Milord, her carriage has arrived. What would you like us to do?"

His heart seemed to leap uncomfortably high as Pent rose from his seat with a speed that quite frankly surprised himself, turning towards the large windows behind his desk. There, amongst the white fields and the single gray road, was the dark color of a carriage. Despite himself, he grinned before turning to Raike. "Forgive me," he started, "but I'll leave the rest to you."

"Wha - Lord Pent, I might like to see her too! Do you see how much you've left me?" But Pent was already sweeping past the grand desk and all its piles of paperwork for the door, which he opened with such quickness that the maid on the other side gasped in surprise. He nodded to her.

"If all the preparations are complete, then please feel free to do as you like."

His order given, Pent left for the foyer of the castle, down the stairs and out the front door, past all the servants rushing to and fro and kicking up dustings of the shallow snow that was ever present in the winter, advancing all the while towards the dark carriage and its mere two horses that were even now being unlatched by the stablemen. The cold air was refreshing considering how fast he had moved, but it could not calm the speed of his beating heart nor completely cool the warmth that suffused his cheeks.

The carriage door opened, and Louise, skirts and cloak and cute little cap and all, departed from the vehicle with an unladylike hop. He could only focus on her wide grin as she rushed towards him, and he had to admit his utmost surprise when she failed to stop and instead bounded right into him with a leap that was possibly gravity-defying considering the weight of her clothes. It was only with reflexes he had been forced to develop during his long time away that allowed him to catch her in his arms as she collided with him with a squeal of unmistakable delight issuing from her lips. He only gasped at the suddenly reality of her, weight and touch and _her_.

Then her arms went around his waist in the tightest embrace he had ever experienced in all his nineteen years of life, and he found he could not want anything more.

Not even the ticklish feeling he received from the fur of her cap along his jawline caused him to move away from her; it was when he heard a woman's cough that he opened eyes he hadn't even realized he had closed and stared straight into Lady Catherine's eyes, so similar to her daughter's that he jolted involuntarily. Then he carefully disengaged himself from Louise just in case of reprisal, even though there was a smile playing along the woman's painted lips. Louise only gave a little giggle, perhaps out of nervousness, when she turned around and found her mother there.

"You're quite the elegant lady, aren't you?" Lady Catherine said with no ire. He did not feel it was an entirely unconscious reaction when he shifted his weight slightly, as if he could dodge any sharp barbs she aimed in his direction. "And as for you, Lord Pent, I would greatly appreciate being escorted to our rooms at your earliest convenience."

Quickly he offered his elbow to her. "Then we shall go now, if you like."

"Ah, I really only meant for a servant. No need to overextend yourself."

"This is the least I can do for you, Lady Catherine," he replied. Turning to Louise, he held out his free hand. "Louise?"

Smiling, Louise reached for his hand, but she stopped when her mother said, "Louise, won't you assist Celia and Lisette? I recall how distracted Lisette gets around snowy environs. They remind her too much of her childhood days up north."

"Oh, of course, Mother." Briefly, she grinned at Pent. "Thank you for your kindness. Will we meet at afternoon tea?"

He rarely had proper teatimes, not even once he returned to Reglay as its master; food had been rationed carefully at Fibernia, and he had grown too accustomed to that practice to overcome its hold on him now. "Of course. I'll see you then," he said, because guests dictated the itinerary in Etrurian culture and he could never deny Louise her pleasures. And anyway, her bright smile was more than enough of a reward for his capitulation.

Lady Catherine took hold of his elbow, and after they had reached the foyer in comfortable silence she turned to him with something of a smile - something, as it did not seem to come from a completely joyous frame of mind. "Yes, it's true this is the least you can do for me, isn't it? I am going to be your mother-in-law now, you realize."

"Yes, that is true," he answered, caution establishing itself in the face of her smile. "It's an honor. I hope you won't mind having someone like me as your son."

"Let's hope not," she said with an odd cheerfulness that did not match her narrowed eyes or deepening smirk. "Now, my daughter is seventeen and I understand that a certain amount of lenience is necessary considering your unique circumstances, but if you would like me to keep to your library and not be a particularly attentive mother, you should listen well to my rules...keep walking, dear, and please try not to look so faint. I don't think I would like anyone to interrupt our talk. Wouldn't you agree, Lord Pent?"

With a forced smile, Pent said, "And here I had thought the worst was behind me now that I've returned." To this, Lady Catherine only laughed before looking forward.

"Oh, Lord Pent, you really are quite cute. Now, keep walking and listen well, won't you?"

-0-

It had been too long since Louise had returned to Castle Reglay; perhaps that was why the atmosphere of the place was much improved from the days when she sought to help Lord Pent. Before, she had remembered it as a cold place, not a home (never a home) but rather a place where Lord Pent lived and his servants worked. Now, as she watched the maids assigned to her perform their duties with a sort of pleasure she had only evinced from Celia, Lisette, and Ellie back home, she wondered if Lord Pent's arrival after his false death and his time away had not fully awakened the hearts of those who worked here to a love for their duties under the true master of Castle Reglay.

"Lady Louise, is everything to your liking?" asked one of the maids, a sweet brunette named Sophie who was perhaps a year or two younger than Louise herself. She had chattered as pleasantly as a small songbird while helping Celia store Louise's dresses and undergarments, much to the delight of Louise - how wonderful it would be to finally make a friend among the maids of the castle, especially after the tumultuous scenes of her very earliest time in the castle two years before?

"Everything's wonderful, Sophie," Louise said with a smile. "Have you been working here for long?"

Sophie laughed, brushing her hands on her white apron. "No, I'm new! Milord brought me and my brother Alex here after he visited my house."

It seemed as if two strings tied themselves together in Louise's mind as she realized something. "Oh! Was this when Lord Pent went to western Etruria after he regained his title?"

"I don't know anything about that..." Sophie said with a soft pout of confusion. "He came with this other man, a strong-looking mercenary, to tell us what happened to Thomas, and then he offered a place to stay and work for any of us who wanted it. Poppa and Mom and Grandpa didn't want to go anywhere, and Donny's too young and Rachel's already married, but me and Alex thought it was our turn to work for the family. You know, Thomas had been taking care of us for years and that's how he got into trouble, so..." Laughing with a softness that seemed too fragile to bear the weight of her experiences, Sophie looked away from Louise. "Sorry, milady doesn't want to hear this."

"You shouldn't say that. Lady Louise loves to listen to everyone," Celia said, pausing as she looked at her handiwork, fine dresses all in a row from the softest pink to the purest white to the richest burgundy. Louise nodded with a vigor that was common to her daily conversations with others.

"Yes, absolutely! I want to learn more about you and where you came from, Sophie! We should become great friends!"

Sophie stared at her with wide hazel eyes. "Friends...with the count's bride?"

Even the thought of it had Louise blazing from chest to forehead; a mention such as this made her instinctively hide her face in her hands. "I-i-it's not quite yet...n-not until May..." The laughter that penetrated her ears was the sound of sweet Celia's lovely voice, the hands on her wrists belonging to that same fair creature; yet, Louise could not help but resist when her dearest friend tried to pry her hands from her face. It was never in doubt who would win that particular battle, as when Celia had a mind to do something it was always done with time to spare.

"Come, come, some fresh air will do you good and calm that fierce color on your face." Louise struggled as Celia hauled her to her feet.

"But I'm having tea with Lord Pent soon!"

"Wouldn't you like to visit Madame Amy, if only for a bit?"

Louise hesitated, and that made it all the more easier for Celia to pull her towards the door. "Y-yes...but what about my outfit for tea?"

"Sophie!" Celia called. "Take out the light pink dress with the white lace and a white slip to match, as well as the white indoor cape, and lay them out on the bed. I'll show you how to prepare her once we get back."

"But-"

With one elegant movement of her finger, Celia silenced her excuses. "Let's go see Madame Amy, shall we? You two have been penning missives to each other since the spring, so certainly it's your duty now to pay her a visit at first chance. Correct?"

It was true, wonderfully true. Louise lowered her head in a demure attempt to hide her smile. "Thank you, Celia," she murmured. "You always know what's best for me."

"I didn't think going to your lord grandfather would be for the best, but you proved me wrong," Celia replied as they headed towards the grand staircase to the castle foyer. Louise hesitated, knowing well that the topic that wanted nothing more than to burst from her lips was one that they were in contention over.

"Then...if I am at least a little successful in these things, won't you stay with me a little longer?"

Celia did not answer and Louise did not push the question; in this way, they were equals. They left the castle and traveled down the road to the gates which led to the castle town itself, the crisp February air stinging Louise's cheeks. Belatedly she remembered that her sturdy fur-trimmed cloak had long been discarded in the grand room that was to be her own for the duration of her week-long stay at the castle, leaving her in her dress and that alone. It was not quite decent, but the bare streets of the town proved that this would not be common knowledge just yet. She would have thought it would continue to be, if not for silent Celia suddenly taking hold of her arm. "There's a man following us," she whispered in Etruscan. "He looks strong - ah, don't look at him!"

But Louise, piqued by curiosity, could do nothing more than to look over her shoulder. There was indeed a man not fifteen feet behind them, his dark blond hair short and his face clean-shaven. He walked like many an animal prowled; he had the presence of a well-trained beast who had dominated many others and knew of his own power and skill. He could not suppress this strength for the world, and Louise, who was herself a hunter - a human predator, one could call it - could see it as keenly as she could see her own footprints in the snow on the road. But - and here was the thing - she did not feel immediately anxious in having sighted this man, for he looked quite familiar...

"Ah, it's Sir Nestor!" she cried out. To the sound of Celia's sudden exclamation, she hurried away from her dear friend and towards the man who had joined with Lord Pent on unnamed adventures she had not been able to attend after his return home. "Sir Nestor! How do you do?"

He looked at her with little expression on his face save some scarce bemusement. "Milady," he greeted with a slight bow.

She smiled. "Where are you going, Sir Nestor?" To this, he frowned.

"I'm not a knight."

"But you work with the castle guards, who are to a one considered knights. Also, Lord Pent depends upon you, which means he must think of your presence as that of a knight protecting his lord."

"I'm not a knight," he repeated patiently.

"Perhaps you should be knighted, then," Louise thought aloud. "I wonder if Lord Pent has the authority to do so. I should ask him."

Crossing his arms, Nestor stared at her. "Milady, why are you outside the castle?"

"I'm visiting a good friend of mine."

"I will come with."

Smiling, Louise said, "How wonderful! More company is always more fun! Shall we go, Sir Nestor? I have to get back in time to prepare for afternoon tea." Lord Pent's friend nodded at this, his expression more or less unchanged, and after collecting Celia from her spot they made their way down the snow-lined streets of the castle town. While the two of them were in front, Sir Nestor elected to walk behind them, something Louise could not help but smile at because of his obvious protectiveness.

She had met him before, the first time being when Lord Pent officially came home. It had been a particularly balmy September day, and everywhere she went in Aquleia people spoke excitedly about the 'Reglay 45', those forty-five men who survived the Western Isles, of whom their leader was Lord Pent. Being that he had been just eighteen, this feat of his was repeated again and again until he became one of the great heroes of the modern age - something which Louise was only too happy to hear. King Mordred himself had invited Lord Pent to the palace, and there was to be a parade in the streets to celebrate the return of the true Count Reglay - although, in his single letter to her, which had also included a personal invitation to the day's events, Lord Pent had mentioned that Baron Tilley was fighting to stay head of House Reglay and the title that naturally followed such a role and that it would take some time to dislodge those honors from the baron's grasp. Until then, Lord Pent would be staying in Aquleia, his townhouse having been untouched by the inheritance issues that plagued Reglay Castle due to the fact that it belonged to Lord Pent alone, having been purchased in his name by his father when Lord Pent began attending school in the capital.

The parade had been exciting, the brassy sound of trumpets filling the sky with triumphant songs, though she did not remember much more than that as she was too busy looking for Lord Pent to care. For all that, it was Lord Pent who found her first after the main parade ended, and, with a slight touch to her back, he led her to where some of his friends from the Western Isles were gathered. They called her 'the mysterious fiancée', teasing Lord Pent all the while. It was the first time she had ever seen him with people he cared for as friends and comrades, and she was glad to see it. When he had introduced her to Sir Nestor, the man had been so quiet and reserved that she had figured he did not care for her, but according to Lord Pent this was how he normally was around most people.

Later, after Lord Pent had regained his title and his castle, he had written to let her know he was to go on a short journey to honor the last wish of a friend who had died at the Isles, and that she should not worry because Sir Nestor would be accompanying him. Louise did not worry, so happy she was that he had friends he could rely on, and only bade him to keep warm and hurry back as soon as his journey was completed. He had done so, taking no more than two weeks in total, and she supposed it was at that time he had brought back Sophie and her brother to work at the castle, though she did not think he did it as a mere favor to his fallen friend. No, Lord Pent liked to help people. It did also help him; Baron Tilley had fired all the help and installed his own from Tilley Manor, leaving the castle understaffed and many of the areas within suffered from the neglect. That was why it had taken so long for Lord Pent to feel comfortable in inviting her to the castle, although they did meet a few times in Aquleia and once in her own home.

After a few more winding streets, their little party found themselves in front of the Nachett home, which Louise remembered a little about during her extended stay in Reglay. It was a quaint house liberally covered in snow, and outside Madame Amy's pegasus, Hester, could be found trotting along freely with the younger son upon the saddle. Madame Amy herself was sitting on the doorstep with her swaddled eldest son at her knee, the former writing letters in the snow for the latter to interpret. At the sight of Sir Nestor, however, this son jumped to his feet and ran over to the good mercenary, begging to be taught swordplay, to which Sir Nestor assented with the barest hint of a smile. For her part, Madame Amy looked delighted to see them, rising to her feet with the help of a sturdy oaken cane.

"Lady Louise! I heard you were arriving today, but I didn't think you'd visit so soon!"

"I had to," Louise said, grinning all the while. "Letters simply aren't enough!"

Madame Amy nodded, accepting a hug from Louise before moving on to Celia. "Very true. It's nice to see you as well, Celia. Still taking care of your mistress?"

"Somebody has to," Celia agreed with a grave expression, one she couldn't hold once Louise gaped at her in incredulous dismay. "Oh, Lady Louise, you know I was joking!"

Louise pouted. "I know. But it's still true, isn't it?"

"Have you spent some time with your fiancé yet?" Madame Amy asked. To this, Louise could not help but gently worry at her bottom lip with her teeth, feeling like no more than a young girl when she was now becoming quite an old one.

"Not yet. He greeted us, but after he escorted Mother to our rooms he had to go back to work..."

"Ah, my husband's been complaining. 'Lord Pent's so unfocused! If he's going to fall apart like this, can't he do it after we finish up the ordinances?'"

"Falling apart?" Louise could not help but twist her lips in displeasure. "No, no, Lord Pent wouldn't, not as he is now. Before, he was more unfocused, but now it's as if he's come into focus."

"Hmm," Celia murmured. Madame Amy worked her fingers through her dark green hair, her expression thoughtful.

"He sounds like he was hazy before."

Shuffling her boots in the snow, Louise nodded. "Perhaps. But isn't that very impressive of him to change so much for the better? Of course, Lord Pent was wonderful already..."

"Of course," said Celia with a smile.

"Of course," said a grinning Madame Amy. Realizing that she was being teased, Louise ducked her head as her cheeks began to bear that familiar warmth of embarrassment.

"We should go back soon if you want to get ready for tea," Celia warned, and Louise knew it was true to a word; thus, she complied with a nod and turned to Madame Amy.

"Madame-"

"Just Amy, if you please. I may be working for you in the near future."

Louise shared a confused glance with Celia at this announcement. "Truly? As one of my maids?"

Amy - for she preferred it so - laughed at this. "As nursemaid to your future children, of course!"

Fairly shrieking in astounded surprise, Louise could do no more than slap her hands onto her face to hide the sudden heat that burned there, though behind those hands hid the widest smile out of their little group. That they could make these jokes and tease each other so, without fear of whatever the future would bring, was the most wonderful thing of all. Everything was quite all right.

All they had to do was look to the future.

-0-

Pent had hoped that, without saying anything, Louise would extend the day of her departure beyond the mere week she was staying at the castle, but as they whiled away the days in each other's company this was less and less probable. They took their meals together without exception, walked when the weather was fine and played chess - or, at least, he taught her how to play, as she seemed to find it a novel concept - when a storm blew in for two days. One night they even went to see a play in town, and he wasn't sure what to make of it when the audience applauded the two of them when they entered the theater to find their seats. But, for the most part, they were celebrating their birthdays in the manner he had hoped to two years ago, and there was not one part of it that he found disagreeable.

Well, there was one, but that was more the fault of his own nature.

Currently they were outside in one of the winter-stripped castle gardens, enjoying some fresh air during the lull between the bouts of snowstorms. His senses were strong enough to predict obvious trends in the weather, although he suspected that accurate prediction using the spirits in any situation was still years beyond him, but as he watched Louise toddle before him in more layers of clothing than was probably called for, he wasn't overly concerned about her health at the moment. The ends of her scarf fluttered behind her as she worked her way through the small drifts of snow that stood in her path, and then ceased to move as she bent down and began packing snow together between her gloved hands. He stopped and observed this action, interested and growing suspicious, especially when she glanced behind her and then quickly returned to her little project. By the time she rose, she held a good-sized snowball that she was doing a poor job of hiding with her somewhat less lithe body.

"I'll only warn you once," he called out, unable to hide the smile on his face. "Should you use that against me, I'm afraid I won't hesitate to retaliate with the force necessary to subdue you."

She dropped the snowball, amusement her primary expression. "Lord Pent, it's only a child's game!"

"Well, I'm not a child."

"I know," she said with a laugh. "But it's fun to remember what it was like to be a child and play like this, don't you think?"

I wouldn't really know, Pent did not say. Instead he kept a slight smile on his face and let Louise do as she liked without further commentary, not willing to go further in the current topic of discussion. There was some confusion on her face before she turned and continued forward, and after a moment he began to follow her again.

Truth be told, he was feeling a little dissatisfied.

He was brooding about this feeling of being out-of-sorts when Louise's excited voice reached his ears. "Lord Pent, it's snowing!" she called. When he looked up, he found that it was indeed beginning to snow again. Any words he had to suggest returning inside died upon his tongue when he found Louise using her own to catch snowflakes with.

"Are you really seventeen?" he inquired, his tone perhaps a little more mocking than he had intended. She glanced at him, something unreadable in her expression, before she smiled.

"I am. But catching snowflakes like this is so much fun!"

"What is so fun about it, if I may ask?"

She turned her face so that he was met with her profile, which looked oddly fragile in the moment. Light snowflakes were beginning to dot her clothes; the white on her gray cap and cloak made her appear almost aglow against the dark gray skies of the winter day. "I would always like to remember what it is like to be a child, even if I am no longer one. I don't want to lose that part of myself, the part in which I learned so much and enjoyed life so easily. Do you think it is a bit silly, Lord Pent?"

Quieted by her thoughtful answer, he shook his head. "Not in the least, Louise. You should always remain true to your feelings. That is one of the things I admire about you."

"Mn, then..." She turned a brilliant smile onto him. "You should do it too. No one else is out here."

"...It's fine. You can do it for me."

He said that, yet his dissatisfaction only increased as she followed his suggestion and turned away from him to play more of her game. Yes, part of it was an irrational feeling of being ignored, despite the fact that they spent so much time day in and day out since she had arrived, but another part was something a little more...carnal. It did not mean he had any wish to outrage her virtue or anything terrible as such, but there came a time when holding hands and the occasional hug were nice but inadequate.

Really, he just wanted to kiss her once before she left him again.

Clenching his hands, he wondered what exactly he should do. This was completely the fault of his own inexperience and timidity, but at the same time he simply couldn't tell what Louise would do should he make his move. Matters of sensuality seemed to be more her forte, but at the same time he wanted to take the lead in this.

_Well, we are going to be married in a matter of months_, he reasoned. _It would be nice if we had some degree of comfort between us before consummating the union._

Even the thought of it left him feeling embarrassed, but he decided there was no time like the present and gestured for Louise to return to him. She did so with a smile so bright and innocent that he felt awkward without even having touched her. He held out his hand while she hopped over piles of snow, but just before she reached out to take his hand he moved forward to catch her around the waist with his outstretched arm. Giggling at this, she moved closer to him, their bodies pressed together, not even the many layers of clothes they each wore dimming this novel effect. Louise's eyes were lowered so that it looked as though she were studying his coat, but he wondered if she was feeling too embarrassed to look up at him. Perhaps she was already at her limits when it came to physical contact.

"Louise," he whispered, promising himself that he would let her define the boundaries of their relationship; as a man, that was only the right thing to do. He only wanted to see her eyes looking up at him from such a close position - that could be enough, if that was what she wanted.

She looked up at him, a healthy blush darkening her pale complexion. He wondered if she was cold, even if her face looked hot. Glancing at her lips, he wondered if those were cold.

He wouldn't do anything she didn't want - this is what he believed of himself. Tentatively, he leaned in, then paused when he could just feel her soft breath against his own lips, but she seemed completely still in his hold.

Was that acceptance? A fear so overwhelming she couldn't move? He didn't know. He wanted to find out.

He kissed her.

Louise did not move, but he had to say that there was more than enough of an effect on him to make up for it; his heart seemed to jump in his chest with even that light press of his lips on hers. It was almost profound to realize how much feeling there was in his lips, as if humans were made for these simple intimacies, and all at once it was too much and not enough. He pulled away after what was possibly the longest moment in his life, wondering just what Louise thought of that - of him - now. "There," he breathed, the single word so quiet he wasn't sure she could even hear him, "I've caught you."

That was the stupidest thing he ever said, he immediately thought afterward. It was not only the stupidest thing he had ever said, it would be the worst he would ever utter in his life. He was certain of this, right until he felt Louise's hand on his shoulder.

"Oh, Lord Pent," she murmured, the soft susurration against his lips almost too much to bear, "but you already have me."

Because self-deprecation was all he really had to rely on now, he whispered, "Then should I go catch snowflakes instead?" Her tightening grip on his shoulder was an answer even he could recognize, because all he could do was chuckle at such a response. "Or, shall I kiss you again?"

Her answer wasn't audible, but he understood it well all the same.

-0-

Louise looked out the window at the falling snow and thanked God and the good saint for this turn in her fortunes; with the snowfall having been consistent over the last few days, her return home would be delayed at least by a week even if it were to end tonight, for the roads would be difficult to travel for at least some days longer. To be allowed to stay within sight of Lord Pent for a week longer was a blessing she could not fail to give her gratitude for, and she made sure to give it often. These days, she spent so much time beside Lord Pent that it would be a most reproachable failure otherwise. She could feel the steady onslaught of heat as it assailed her face at the thought of the time she spent with Lord Pent, her fingers finding each other and twisting in the manifestation of her girlish glee as she lowered her gaze from the window to the soft folds of her cashmere mantle, which was a frosty white and lined with intricate patterns in gold thread from the collar down the front - a gift from her father in celebration of her most recent birthday. The dress she wore under it was made of more common material, the skirts of her cotton dress crinkling in long, elegant pleats of pale blue. And, because Lord Pent had expressed a liking for it, she wore her long hair down, though Celia had insisted on putting a wave through it and pinning up those locks that curled around the sides of her face. Soon enough she would leave for another meeting with Lord Pent, if only she could regain her composure in time...

Scented droplets assaulted her in a single spray from one of her mother's perfumes, and Louise gasped in shock before she turned to face her assailant - her dearest friend Celia! "What are you doing?" she exclaimed, still fully rooted in her surprise.

"I am helping you prepare for your rendezvous," Celia replied, her choice of weapon still in her hands. "This scent is the most becoming of all those your mother brought with her, and it'll easily air out."

Louise sniffed at the air; a light, subtle aroma greeted her nose, flowery without being overpowering, all feminine mystique and simple romanticism. "It isn't rose, is it?" Celia smiled at this.

"You're still poor at identifying scents. It's lily of the valley, camellia, and white plum."

"How incredible...you know so much," Louise murmured in awe, or at least, until Celia flipped the perfume decanter so that a label could clearly be seen.

"It's easier with this," Celia said with a smile. To this, Louise pouted. "Oh, come now, you didn't really think I knew all that, did you?"

"But you know everything," Louise responded, "like what colors suit me best, how to apply makeup and prepare my hair, how to mend clothes and wash them so that the material comes out just as nicely whether it is cotton or velvet, how to tie my corset just so that it becomes first an instrument of support rather than a device to unnaturally shape my body, and..."

"Please, enough. I really am suited to only be a maid, it seems," Celia said, a sad look crossing her face but briefly, yet it was too much for Louise to bear. She reached for her wonderful friend's hands, smiling as comfortingly as she could.

"No, first you are my sister, then you are anything you wish to be."

Celia paused for a moment, then shook her head, loose strands from her strawberry-blond braid shaking to and fro. "Lady Louise, you're going to be late. I don't know where you and Lord Pent will go to, but please remember to be careful."

"Careful?" Louise repeated, somewhat confused. "Careful in what? The castle is perfectly safe."

Bowing her head, Celia mumbled, "That wasn't what I meant. In regards to the time you spend with Lord Pent, you should understand the position you're in right now and take heed of it. The holy saint will forgive you, but at this level I'm not sure your father and lady mother will take things as lightly..."

Louise stared at the crown of her friend's head for a moment, then slowly backed away as a dim light of realization began to glow inside her mind. "T-that's...I wouldn't...Lord Pent would never..."

"I understand," Celia said with a certain amount of force behind her words, "I am not accusing you of anything. We have shared the same firm education by the hands of your mother and Lisette in these matters, and Lord Pent is an upstanding man who has never shown to do anything less than the honorable thing. But, as your _soeur du coeur_, I can see the changes upon you as your intimacy with him grows, and as the elder of us two I only want you to understand that I care for you enough to warn you, even though it is not necessary. Do you see that, Lady Louise?"

"...I do, Celia, and I see how much sisterly concern you hold for me and I love you all the more for it. Only...although you say you can see this change, you cannot really understand it." Moving towards Celia, she stopped just before her life's greatest friend. "Would it be so terrible to speak from your experience of your heart, rather than your experience with mine?"

For a moment, Celia said nothing, her gaze forward and unwavering. It was when she turned her head to the side that Louise understood that something had been lost here today, that their paths were truly meant to veer away from the other. "I know of his feelings and I am flattered, but I don't find him equal to what I want in my life. My hopes and dreams...these things are my life. If his wants should prove to be the master of mine, then that must mean I myself am nothing. Could you understand that?"

Louise had no response. Celia continued. "I don't really think you can, because it takes root from something before our meeting on that road. For you, to love is to live, and your greatest satisfaction will come from submerging in the love of your family. It will transform you...it has already transformed you. Yet, for me, love is a companion, but it is not the whole of me. That's why our paths must eventually separate. Dear Louise, can you understand that?"

Seventeen years of age, and yet Louise, try as she might, could not do as her sister of her heart bade of her. Instead, she redirected herself so that she was headed towards the door. But, before she could leave, she paused by the door frame and said, "I could, if you want me to. But I cannot say that I like it."

"I don't like it either," Celia said with a certain simplicity that indicated she felt the conversation was over, and Louise agreed, walking into the hallway and down the paths that would lead to Lord Pent's personal library. She willed herself to not think about Celia's words, but she still couldn't help but remember her dear friend's warnings, and her heart trembled for it. It was true that she had reached a deeper intimacy with Lord Pent, and it was true that she had no interest in furthering it for the time being...

How true?

Her steps faltered, a hand pressed to her chest. She did not like the question, never mind that it came from her own mind. Who would like a question that was both interrogation and a mirror to her own heart?

She liked being with him, but to her eyes that was no problem. Perhaps the deeper problem was that she had no fear of the feelings that arose as she enjoyed the deepening intimacy between herself and Lord Pent.

How truly terrible was it to have no fear - to instead revel in these new pleasures?

Her mood dampened, she arrived at the library and pushed open the slightly ajar door. "Lord Pent?"

"I'm here," he called from further within the room, emerging from the very last row behind a great shelf loaded with tomes. With his welcoming smile and the way longer strands of his light bluish-gray hair fell across his face, Louise was reminded again, as she always was, at how much he had matured from the young man she had met almost three years ago. In those days, he had been so restrained that it had seemed as though he were unaffected, still unsure of his role in his own life. Of course, she had known that the real Lord Pent was a good and kind man, a wonderful person who only needed to be reached out by others in order to learn how to reach out to them in turn.

Hadn't he, in the end? If he hadn't tried to send his feelings to her, they would not have this now.

"Are you researching for your new paper?" she asked as she approached him, noticing the book he held in his hand. He nodded, showing her the cover, which read A History of Symbology: The Simplification of the Modern Anima Sigil.

"It's actually quite interesting," he told her. "I thought at first that I might like to work on a thesis that could be related to my own growth in ability from warfare, but to be honest something more academic might be preferable at this point. It will be much harder for me to publish since I've been away for so long."

She clapped her hands together, delighted at the news. The look Lord Pent had on his face whenever he was fully engaged in his studies was always quite attractive in how focused he was; she had seen it quite often whenever he discussed possible topics to explore during the last week or tried to explain a magical concept to her. In her mind, she thought he could be quite the capable teacher.

"Would you like to read the draft when I'm done?" he asked, his expression open and full of a singular pleasure; she suspected he was happy that she was so interested in what he loved.

"Yes, I would be happy to if it helps," she said. "But I don't know very much about magic. Will that be all right?"

He nodded. "It will be fine. I would actually prefer that, since I want to see how much you can understand the paper."

"For my sake as your pupil?" she asked with a wide smile. His lips curled into a slight smirk at that, and with the way his shortened hair framed his face and highlighted the glint of amusement in his eyes Louise felt herself warm at the sight.

"No, I thought I would like to be easily understood, whether by accomplished mages or by someone with no considerable knowledge of the subject." There was a pensive expression on his face for a brief moment before he gestured for her to come closer. "Here, I'd like your help."

She bit her bottom lip at the command, hiding her face as best she could with her hair despite her short bangs and tied up locks. "Of course," she said as she joined him in the alcove. Surrounded by bookshelves in every way but directly behind her, there was an impending pressure of anticipation that echoed the beat of her heart as she ran her hands down her skirts and surreptitiously adjusted the bottom hem so that it was hidden behind the shelf that blocked them from the door. Next to her, Lord Pent was putting back the book he had been holding; as soon as he tended to that, he turned to her, one hand reaching out to cup her face with the utmost gentleness. A trill ran through her, knowing that he had remembered that she had told him the day before that she had liked that - in the time he had been away, he had developed a coarseness to his hands that, while it did not compare to the callouses she had developed through archery practice, somehow felt pleasant against her skin. These were a man's hands...

"Don't look down," he said, his voice hushed. "Please."

She hadn't even realized she had lowered her face; when she raised her eyes she found an unexpectedly serious look there, his countenance shrouded by something reflected in his eyes that was as fragile as gossamer. It was impossible to look away from him, even as he lowered his face towards hers, and it was only when his lips met hers that she let her eyes close. Something trembled within her as she savored the kiss, as if she were on a beach and in the ocean ahead of her hid deep secrets of her impending womanhood, all the mysteries and pleasures for the taking if she only stepped forward and let herself drown in the feelings Lord Pent caused within her.

Ah - but no, not yet. This was the thing Celia warned her about, the thing that she and Lord Pent were consciously avoiding. There was no need to go forward; wouldn't it be wonderful enough to explore their current location?

There was none of that at the current moment, however, as he pulled away from her. How her face tingled with heat as his light exhale brushed against her parted lips! Had he moved even further away to look at her she would have hidden her face, no matter his request to the contrary, but he elected to remain at a distance that truly wasn't. "Louise," he murmured, each syllable of her name ghosting against her lips as though they were brief kisses all on their own, "are you wearing perfume?"

"I-I am." She smiled, hesitant to whisper her next words, but wanting to all the same. "Do you like it?"

"I think I do. May I?"

The proper and ladylike thing to do in this situation would be to back up and offer him her wrist to sniff, though Celia hadn't applied any there, but Louise was feeling the very word Amy had spoken of over a week ago, hazy, and more than that, a bit of boldness seemed to inject itself into her in her inebriated state. "You may," she replied quietly, closing her eyes as she lifted her head up, not wanting to see the look on his face at this brazen act. As his hand still laid on her cheek she could feel the current of surprise rush through it as if he had been jolted by such temerity, but then she heard him hum a little in response before he moved forward. She could not help but move back at this, her back against the numerous spines of old tomes that lined the shelves of the bookcase behind her, but she took little notice of that when she realized that she could feel the dim sensation of his breath against her neck, still shielded by the collar of her mantle.

Perhaps he found himself hindered, too, for she heard him whisper into her ear, "May I take this off?"

"Ah..." However bold she had thought herself to be, she never would have expected to find her match in Lord Pent! Once she calmed herself down to understand that he only meant the mantle, she swallowed as she nodded, feeling as though the sound carried impossibly loud between them. His fingers were at her throat before she knew it, nudging buttons out of little loops with a dexterity she never would have imagined from him. Her eyes were still tightly closed, so she could feel instead of observe with her own eyes how he folded the collar down, exposing her bare neck - the collar of this dress was in fashion and only went as high as the bottom curve of the connection between shoulder and neck. There, she could feel his breath as it returned to the side of her neck; she could feel just as much as hear him inhale the scent of the borrowed perfume; she could feel it as his lips lightly pressed themselves against the side of her neck.

She went rigid and he paused, his lips removed from her neck just so. It did not help the situation, for she could still feel his breath against her skin and how she warmed more and more with each exhale. Finally, though she felt herself quickly reaching that point where her nervousness would outweigh the nascent pleasure of this exploratory play, she reached up with her left hand to touch what she hoped was the curve of his shoulder. He seemed to understand this action as her reassurance and pressed his lips to her neck again, kissing it with unbearable tenderness. Rubbing his shoulder for want of something to do with that hand while her other was pressed flat against the books, she turned her head a little more to give him that much more access, smiling in ticklish pleasure as he quickly took advantage of this, first by peppering up and down the length of her neck with small kisses, then by pressing his lips with more fervor. Had she not already closed her eyes out of embarrassment she would have already by the _niceness_ of the feelings he was giving her, she knew it.

Then - perhaps it was a little too nice as he parted his lips and nipped just so, giving her a shock she was sure she would not soon forget. Her occupied hand clenched his shoulder but she did nothing more, and after a moment's pause he began to incorporate this to his strategy. Were he not taking an extended leave from the military to attend to his own affairs she would have thought he was thinking with a tactician's mind. The hand he had used to cup her face was now in her hair, and his fingertips against her scalp was quite the pleasant diversion, or perhaps it enhanced the feelings that now coursed through her, she could hardly think enough to analyze it. His tongue made a languid sweep from a certain spot he had found to his liking and that was it, that was more than she could have ever expected to handle as her entire body seemed to react as though every nerve she possessed lay claim to that one spot of her neck.

"Lord Pent," she breathed with a certain sense of urgency. She did expect that he would stop were she to speak up, but she did not expect him to do it so suddenly, as though he had been frozen on the spot. Luckily for her all-too-sensitive nerves, he raised himself from her in one swift movement and she opened her eyes to find that there was a shine to his eyes that she had never seen before.

"Louise, my name..." He seemed to pause, as though he rethought his words and found them lacking for the moment, then he shook his head. "No, it's nothing."

Her hand was still on his shoulder, but now she felt it would be too obvious if she removed it. That, and she rather liked touching him and it was innocent enough. "What is it?" she asked, concerned.

"It's nothing," he repeated, his hand once again stroking her face. "What about you? Did I do something wrong?"

"Ah, not exactly, I liked it, I..." She turned away from his expectant look. "I...liked it too much, I think..."

A noise came from him that sounded suspiciously like a muffled laugh, but when she glanced at him his face held the most innocent expression. "All right, I won't do that. But..." He paused, his thumb near the corner of her mouth "May I kiss you again?"

She smiled, happiness and something else coiling within her. "Please do," she murmured, closing her eyes as his face neared hers again. "Please..."

Every time they kissed, it was as though Louise learned something new, whether it was about herself or him. For instance, as her hand roamed from his shoulder to his neck, she found that he seemed to appreciate her touch as he deepened the kiss even faster than he had the last time. In response, she brought her other hand to bear as she placed it on his side, then his back, as she became further and further enraptured by the garden of delights that was this embrace, all the while her left hand, the original instigator, traveled peaceably from his neck to his hair, clipped shorter than the length he had carried on the island but not too short, and she thought wickedly that he might appreciate the sensation of her fingers along his scalp just as much as she enjoyed the same from him. His response was so nice as he pressed even closer to her that she just had to do it again and again, now completely enthralled by the physical and emotional sensations that followed this dance of action and reaction between them until neither knew what the original cause was. All she knew was that this was a happiness that she wanted more of, for once she returned home there would only be short trips to Reglay until the eve of the wedding itself.

No, no, no! Let her have this moment for as long as she wanted, in this sweet time where her exploration had clear limits that encouraged rather than discouraged her. Let her have this in the period between childhood and adulthood, one where she knew too little to act and the other where she was expected to burden herself with the weight of known experiences - let her have a time when she was just childlike enough that all this could be blissfully new while she was adult enough to take advantage of what she had. She was just aware enough to know that all families desired a hearth, so allow them to stoke this heat. Let them-

"Lord Pent," she gasped as they separated, "are you enjoying this? Am I-" Her words were swallowed up by his forceful kiss, and when he released her she was too disappointed by the relative quickness to remember what more she had to ask.

"Yes," he breathed against her lips. "You've always made me happy." And now it was her turn to kiss him, and-

The creaking sound of the door opening was unmistakable; the sound of heavy heeled boots sounding on the stone floor with a confident, casual stroll was downright frightening, as Louise only knew one woman who could think to walk in such a way in the castle. She pushed Lord Pent away, but by his wide eyes he had already heard the intruder and made his own assumptions. "Your mother?" he mouthed, and she frantically nodded, doing up her buttons on her mantle with a speed that she had thought beyond her small fingers. He looked one way, then another, before he grabbed the book he had shown her before from its spot and reached out with his free hand for one of hers. Before she could think to ask him what he was doing, he had already begun to walk around the bookshelf that had sequestered them from the library at large - though, it was really a small one.

"Oh, Lady Catherine. Good day," he greeted her mother, and if Louise hadn't spent a good part of the day with him she never would have thought he had been so pleasurably engaged with her earlier.

Her mother, who had an open book in front of her, looked up at Lord Pent with considerable surprise on her face. "Lord Pent? Louise? I hadn't thought there was anyone here."

"Yes, actually, I was doing research for my new paper. It's to be a look at arcane symbology from The Scouring onward and expostulates what this has done to anima magic in terms of linguistic mutations and such. It's quite fascinating, I find."

"Yes, well, I'll leave you to that," her mother said with just an arched eyebrow for effect. Her mother glanced in her direction and instantly frowned. "Hm? Louise, come closer."

Unlike Lord Pent's request for the same, Louise very much did not want to obey this one, but with Lord Pent's hand in her own offering comfort (and perhaps assistance for a quick escape, should it be necessary), Louise did as she was told. Her mother aimed narrowed lavender eyes at her as her mother's mood seemed to darken, then with a quick movement she found her mother's hand grasping her chin. "Girl, what have I told you about asking others permission before using their things?"

Louise could only offer a surprised squeak that much changed her normal voice. "Huh?"

"My perfume," her mother enunciated. Louise nodded, somewhat frantic.

"Forgive me, Mother. It smelled so nice that I wanted to wear it and forgot to ask you first."

"Well, it's the wont of the young woman to hold to selfishness before all else," her mother huffed before releasing her. "Go on, you've put me in a mood."

"Y-yes, I'm terribly sorry..." With a penitent nod, she followed Lord Pent out of the room. Once they were beyond the door and some distance away, she could not help herself: she began to giggle. After a moment, Lord Pent's quiet chuckle joined her before they began to walk again.

Their destination was unknown, but Louise thought it was fine; they were together, and that made all the difference.

-end-

Sorry for the delay, those of you who have grown to expect the stories at morning, Pacific time; I had work starting at 4 AM, so I couldn't spare time for my final proofreading until afterward. Anyway, the last scene has been one of the original scenes of the serial, and that, along with the final scene of the last main story, were the 'end goal' I envisioned for the two. I didn't write the scene to titillate - not really - but rather as an exploration on female sexuality at the onset of a physical relationship. For a long time, and even now, there has been an undercurrent of this ideology where women were/are not allowed to 'own' their own feelings sexually the same way as a man is allowed to. Because of this line of thought, I wanted to write a 'pure' scene where Louise can understand societal pressures yet still fully appreciate physical intimacy. Also, this is all about exploration; of course there is always exploration with each new partner, but there's something really innocent about the _first_ first times that I wanted to tap into here.

It's also very interested to write this knowing that it has to stay at a PG level. I think it is more effective for that, but what do you think?

This may all be silly to a lot of you, but please don't mind me. I'm just thinking aloud as it were. The next update is the last main story, on 7/26! There will be two more stories after the fact, but they are only tangentially related to the main serial. Thank you very much for reading, and if you have spare time please let me know what you think!


	27. One Flower for Two Hands

Bouquet

(C) Nintendo and Intelligent Systems

(Thank you all for reading. It was a pleasure and an honor for me. The first side-story will be up 8/9.)

-0-

"...Today we'll have the final adjustment fitting for the all of the wedding attire, then a luncheon for the guests attending the wedding, and then tonight there will be a dinner with the city's elite. Tomorrow morning is the first rehearsal, then another that afternoon, with a dinner for all of Reglay's nobles afterward. Finally the wedding is on the tenth whenever the sun is high enough to shine through the chapel's sky window, so that should be by the late morning. Are there any questions?"

With notes of concern coloring her soft voice, Louise asked, "Are we really going to have a dinner with the county nobles, considering that none of them were invited to the ceremony itself?" Beside her, Pent half-sighed, an ironic twist to his lips altering what should normally be a pleasant smile to something far more sardonic.

"It's because they aren't invited that we have to do this," he explained, a thread of annoyance running through his words. "It's just another expense we have to bear."

Raike, who had been seated in front of them while explaining the itinerary leading up to the wedding, now looked up at his liege with a frown. "Milord, we're the richest county behind the crown. Believe me when I say that we can ill afford _not_ paying for the banquet."

Pent half-smiled. "It wasn't the money I was referring to."

"Nevertheless, you'll have to endure it," Raike said, his tone somewhat mocking, though it was obvious he meant no disrespect towards his lord. "Show us what the hero of the Western Isles campaign is made of."

Pent looked nonplussed by the reference before slight exasperation crossed his face, all while Louise giggled behind her hand. "Nothing a normal human being doesn't already possess. Going back to the topic at hand, how are the preparations going? Are there any problems you foresee? Should you need assistance-"

"Everything's fine," Raike said firmly, his face completely bare of any anxieties - or the reddish blotches that signified the same. "As steward to Reglay Castle, I assure you that there will be nothing on my end that will give any cause to my lord to worry."

"When you say it like that, I really feel relieved," Louise said, her hands together as she held them in front of her chest. "I'm so grateful to you, Master Raike."

With a smile that softened his face and gave him an almost boyish appeal, Raike replied, "As I am to you, Lady Louise. Now, if there isn't anything else, shall we begin?"

-0-

Joshua hadn't been home on the January day Louise's fiancé had come calling; he had been visiting his family down in Ostia, and he couldn't say he really regretted missing the man at the time. Since Uncle Gérald hated traveling and Aunt Catherine had been over a week in her Reglay stay for the wedding, the two of them left as late as possible and still arrived two days before the wedding. Here at the overwhelming Reglay Castle, he and his uncle had been whisked away by a servant in one direction while their luggage went another, and the next thing he knew they were standing in a sitting room as large as his entire house when his parents settled down in Araphen during his early teenage years, plunked down right before the count himself.

He didn't know what to make of Lord Pent when he was first introduced to his cousin's fiancé, and as far as he understood it was solely because he was Lycian-born and raised.

As he watched his uncle share greetings with the count, he considered why he felt so strongly about this. Lycia was, in a word, different. Not that being raised by a mother as vehemently anti-nobility as his own wouldn't have given him some tendencies for the same, but Lycia itself had a very different feel from to Etruria. Yeah, there were the marquesses, and yeah, there were powerful nobles, but they all seemed so minor compared to the sheer structure of royalty and nobility that governed Etruria. The Lycia League had become such because no single lord could hope to throw off either Etruria or Bern if either kingdom was fixing for a fight, so the various regions all still had their identities, and even though Marquess Ostia ruled the league he couldn't make decisions over the other marquesses without a majority. Meanwhile, Etruria was built on one person being more powerful than everyone else, and the social structure played out this way - Etrurians cared so much about blood and lineage and how that gave them the right to be better than others. All that didn't make any sense to Joshua, because so much of Lycia wasn't developed in the same. In fact, much of it wasn't developed at all, and in those places what mattered most was how strong and skilled you are. There was a certain sense of honor in those places that he had not once seen in Etruria, because there were no more true wilds in the kingdom. Everyone was so civilized, even if they weren't actually decent and good like his little cousin.

He felt bad for thinking this way, but it couldn't be helped. He gave up everything Lycian to take over his mother's ancestral home - to be civilized - and as much as he loved his relatives and the simple earnestness of the Etruscan heritage that bound them together, he missed Lycia.

And that, in the end, was why he was immediately off-balance when he first met Count Reglay, because that man with the rich noble blood and cool, polite demeanor had a certain wildness to his eyes that the count simply wasn't hiding. No one else noticed it, either. He was Milord this and Lord Pent that, but all Joshua could see was a man who could survive among the dregs of the hunter communities in Lycia - no, maybe even thrive. There was just something there that made Joshua believe it.

Of course, this worried Joshua more than he had ever expected to feel. His cousin, who had become like a cherished little sister to him, was going to marry this man. No, he didn't like that, he didn't like it at all. So when it came time for him to be formally introduced to Lord Pent, he did what any man should do in that position: he said, "I would like to talk with you in private, if you don't mind."

Lord Pent seemed pleased by the invitation, if his smile wasn't a lie. "Certainly. Let's do so at your earliest convenience."

"Then now would be fine." Joshua paused. "Milord."

If the count was surprised by his straightforwardness, he didn't show it. He only nodded, and after exchanging more pleasantries with the family, Louise escorted everyone out to explore the castle and Joshua was finally alone with the man. Lord Pent still looked reasonably cheerful when he said, "What did you want to talk about?"

"I'll be honest," Joshua started, not taking a seat like the count did, "I don't really trust you. I know it wasn't your fault that you were separated from Louise for that whole time, but I just don't feel comfortable with you marrying her."

"I see." The count was watching him now, his smile now long gone. "May I ask why?"

Joshua smiled thinly. "You're a noble. You can understand that, right?"

To his surprise, the other man nodded. "Yes, I can." That simple admission was enough to deflate Joshua's righteous annoyance, but now he wasn't sure what to do. Lord Pent seemed to agree with that much, because he folded his hands together and said, "What can I do to prove myself to you?"

"Treat her well," Joshua started, groping around for nicer ways to say what was really on his mind. "I don't want for her to come home sad because of something you did. I want her to have a good life. Can you promise this?"

The count hesitated, and that made all the difference in Joshua's eyes. "Yes, I will do my best to ensure this. I want nothing but the best for her, too."

Maybe he had mistaken that strange wildness in the count's eyes. Approaching where the other man sat, he offered his outstretched hand. "If that's true, then let's shake on it." When Lord Pent took his hand, Joshua couldn't help but add, "Also, if you ever break your word, I'll make sure you'll live to regret it."

"Should I ever hurt her intentionally, I certainly would deserve it," the count said in a mild tone. "I'll trust you to take care of that."

Somehow, Joshua didn't think he actually won their _tête-á-tête_. The only thing he confirmed in the end was that Lord Pent was like one of those men back home, and so he could count on his word, even if he couldn't trust the man himself. That would have to do.

-0-

The first thing Aramis d'Capet said when he entered the sunny banquet room in which an elaborate luncheon had been spread out in anticipation of its esteemed guests was, "What?" The food before him was nothing; all his visual powers were focused on one guest and only that guest. When he confirmed that his eyes were not at fault, he muttered a curse in his native Etruscan, then another. This did not improve his mood, so he directed his gaze to just over his right shoulder, where he knew Luca was standing, always attentive to the mood of his lord and master. "That man is here," he said in a low voice.

"It does appear so," Luca said, his voice quiet. There was a pensive expression on his face when Aramis turned fully to look the other man in the eye, his dark eyes and hair always striking in contrast to his lighter skin color, even with his eyes lowered in thought. "Would you like me to make your excuses?"

In truth, Aramis would have preferred it if only because _that woman_ was also here and he had no interest in dealing with both the idiot count and her, but then he reflected on the fact that he would not see his niece after the wedding for perhaps years and he did not like to think of disappointing her. He could only hope that Gérald would control his wife just this once (though he had been hoping for that for years to little effect) and that Count Caerleon would do them all the favor of contracting an illness or indigestion or death posthaste and leave them in peace.

"It will be fine, Luca," he said after a long moment of silence. "It has to be for her sake, if nothing else."

"Understood." But some nervousness was still apparent on Luca's stoic face that Aramis knew only he was privy to, and it revealed itself after a moment as the man began to speak again. "Then, will you excuse me? I fear he will renew his attempts to harm your reputation if he should find me here beside you."

"And where else would you be if not at my side?" Aramis responded tartly. "Let him speak as he wishes; he has not the intelligence to do anything more. We will bear as the Etruscan people have always borne, with dignity and grace."

"Although I am not Etruscan by blood, I will do as you command," Luca said, something of a smile on his lips now. "Also, I will proudly watch your example of the same."

Knowing the insult implicit in the comment, Aramis only smiled thinly. It was true that he would probably not follow his own words, but he had to say them all the same. He had to make sure he did not do anything to embarrass his niece, who could be quite fragile if she saw people fighting around her, and so he could do nothing else but be on his best behavior.

This lasted until Caerleon's useless count sighted him; the sight of the disgust in the man's narrowed eyes was enough to make Aramis reconsider his words. It lit a flame within his breast that had burned many times before, having little patience in bearing the stupid words that had come upon him like a deluge since that time in Aquleia. Even now there were still nasty little whispers that reached his ears; he would never tell Louise just what it took for him to go to Aquleia for that trial for Reglay's ownership.

Why wasn't he married yet? Why did he already take in his cousin as heir apparent even though he still had many years to father a 'real' heir? Why was his knight captain always by his side, and why was that man a bachelor too? So long as he lived according to the lessons the good saint laid upon them all, why did it matter? Gérald too had faced this inquisition of the small-minded, but it seemed better to be labeled an adulterer and married to the sinful lady in question than it was to be a man free of wives and women. It was all because of that man, that hateful fatheaded fool of a count who seemed to think the way to heaven was by breeding without remorse and disdained those who lived differently. See here, now the master of Caerleon was coming to him! By the holy sign of Aureola, why should he have to be tested now?

"Get that look off your face," he heard Gérald suddenly say in Etruscan, and it was with no small amount of surprise when he found his best friend beside him. "I feel uneasy when I see you so bothered."

"Hm," Aramis responded, only sparing Caerleon a single glance to find that the idiot had been stayed by his friend's timely intervention. "I thought you were enjoying conversation with the lordling, your wife and her friend?"

Gérald rolled his eyes at this. "Joshua is doing well enough for the both of us. Anyway, what's wrong? If Louise sees that look when she comes in with the entrée she's worked so hard on, she'll drop it just to tend to you."

"Is that why the lordling is staring at me so avidly?" Aramis halfheartedly retorted. "If I am destined to be the villain of the day, I will not stand for it. Lunch in my rooms will suffice. Come, Luca."

"Milord."

"Wait, I will come along," Gérald said. Aramis looked at him.

"Your daughter will miss you."

"We will both miss each other once the wedding has passed. For now, I can only tend to her beloved 'uncle'."

Luca cleared his throat. "Master Gérald, it would be an honor as always, though I too believe your place to be at your daughter's side. However, the lord of Caerleon seems to be redoubling his courage, so perhaps it would be best to leave now."

"Then we shall," Gérald said firmly, patting Aramis on the shoulder before fairly pulling him over to the door. "My wife will not be happy if you say anything unkind to her friend's husband, and I will bear the brunt of it if I allow it."

Aramis sighed, taking one last glance over his shoulder at the food. "In that case, I should like to stay."

"Absolutely not!"

-0-

Once, when she was still quite young, Nella would imagine what a reunion with her mentor, the indomitable, capricious Lady Catherine Trent (no, never Émile, that wasn't part of the dream) would be like to enjoy. There would be embraces, certainly, and there would be tears on her side, though she could not imagine drawing them from forceful Catherine. She had remembered what a sixteen-year-old Catherine appeared to her child-like eyes, and had installed that into her dream; Catherine would be of moderate height and fair skin, her posture straight and solid if not graceful and her stare every bit as daring as a man's. Then she had enjoyed the good luck of seeing her friend a time or two once she had become Count Caerleon's wife, though they could never meet as true friends for Lord Nicholas had forbid it and Nella could understand his concerns. Reputation was important to highborn nobility and he feared for his; it was difficult to imagine this, but some people still looked down on his rule just because he was not his brother. She could do no greater wrong than to invite trouble across Caerleon's threshold.

Catherine had always understood that, and so they had spent years peaceably steeped in their correspondence, but being able to meet the woman herself had brought unease into Nella's heart. Perhaps it was because Catherine was not truly accepted, not yet, as her daughter had not yet been bonded to Lord Pent in holy matrimony. But since Lord Nicholas had seemed unworried, talking about the young lady he remembered during his earliest _literati_ days, Nella had calmed herself and listened to her husband as they traveled the day's journey between Caerleon and Reglay. After all, she was a mother now; perhaps her worry stemmed from leaving her children alone. She had to fear so much regarding little Priscilla's development, alone with her older sisters as she was; Estelle and Mamie seemed to delight in unnatural cruelty to the poor girl, and then complain that she favored Lord Cornwell's daughter - what a strange thing to say! Really, it was quite frustrating. Why couldn't they let all of them be a happy family together? Why couldn't they understand that Priscilla needed the happiness only their family could provide?

In Lady Cornwell's letters, there was not even a word as to when they would take her back. Nella often wondered why, even though Priscilla's family often sent expensive gifts for the girl's enjoyment. It all made Nella anxious, though she couldn't understand why her feelings ran so deep.

"Hmm...I'm feeling ignored."

"Oh! Forgive me, Catherine, I was only thinking of the children," Nella urged, winding her arm around her dear friend's. "It isn't often that Lord Nicholas and I are separated from them for so long."

Catherine looked at her with an expression that would be very near quizzical if it had been found on any other person. "Three days is so long?"

"Five, if you count the journey to and fro," Nella lightly rejoined. "And it _is_ a long time when they are so young and so many. Surely you would understand."

"I only have the one," Catherine reminded her. Smiling sheepishly, Nella looked down from her mentor's face to the lovely deep brown silk brocade dress the older woman wore, a dark gold sash a daring highlight upon her friend's trim figure. You would not even think the woman had ever carried a child, she was so slight.

"But surely you will miss her after this? Perhaps all the more because she is your only child." The thought of grandchildren quickly following after the wedding caught Nella's attention, and she laughed. "Oh, but soon enough there will be an heir to House Reglay, judging by the way Lord Pent was so attentive to little Louise all throughout the luncheon. You really set up the perfect match for your daughter, didn't you?"

There was something about Catherine's expression that seemed quite ill-suited for their light-hearted talk; the flattening of her lips and the slightest wrinkle upon her brow alluded to that much. "Nonsense, dear. I may have informed her about the bridal selection, but it was all Louise's actions after the fact. That natural temerity is my only gift of personality upon her, and I do so hope she uses it well from here on out."

Certainly one can hope she doesn't use it to offend more highborn lords, Nella restrained herself from saying. Even now her lord husband still commented on that vile statement, and although Nella could well understand the girl's feelings at that time, it was still beyond the pale for a girl to say such things to a man, and a noble at that. Of course, she carried the blame for inviting Louise to her home; now, she would think twice about such an act, knowing that the girl did not care of the consequences of her words.

"Well, well," Nella said, casting about for a new line of conversation. The activities of the servants around them as they bustled about in finishing their duties could have been a good one, but instead she blurted, "It really is too bad you only have one child, Catherine. I do pity you. Perhaps you could have another? You are still very young."

"Thirty-six is too old for a child. I finally have this one out of the house, and you think I should subject myself to another one?" With a scoff, Catherine turned her head away. "You must be mad, Nella. Not all of us are suited for watching over five children at once."

A little hurt by her mentor's unkind words, Nella looked down to the smooth pathway that led the casual walker through the orchards of Reglay Castle. "But," she began, her voice a little softer than she would have preferred, "children make a family so much more enjoyable. Do you think you will ever recapture those joys with just your husband and yourself?"

"There is still Joshua, who is still the best of what Charlotte could possibly produce," Catherine said. "I require more peace the older I get. With Louise marrying a man who I know will adore her to the end of his days, I am also free of worry." She turned her gaze to Nella. "I don't wish to be pitied; as you can tell, there is nothing but joy ahead for me and mine."

"All right, my dearest," Nella said lightly. "My, it truly amazes me how they maintain all these fields as well as the castle. They must employ half the castle city in order to do so!"

But despite her friend's words, Nella did pity her. She could do nothing less than that. From the time of Nanna's first child, Nella knew no greater joy than in caring for her nieces and nephew, and although Priscilla brought her to heartsickness sometimes with her own inability to help the girl, there was nothing but satisfaction in her life. As her children grew into adolescence and then adulthood, binding themselves in marriage and having children of their own, she too would travel in all their joys and sadness until she was laid to rest. Catherine, dear, wonderful Catherine, seemed to have hit an ending here now that her only child would be given away in marriage. Perhaps she had grown to like her hermitage too much so that now she could only draw herself deeper into it and mire herself into this barren loneliness.

Poor Catherine. Poor, poor Catherine.

-0-

"Good evening, Lord Pent."

The voice seemed to have come from nowhere and everywhere all at once, startling Pent from his rather informative perusal of the book in front of him. Because there was no possibility of someone being in front of him due to the shape of his personal library, he turned in his seat to find a woman-shaped figure cloaked in a dressing gown and heavy shadows. "Lady Catherine," he murmured, his tone betraying his bewilderment.

There was a half-smile on her face as she sauntered towards him, the full moon bathing her figure as she approached his window-side seat. Gesturing to the book before the young count, she commented, "Are you enjoying my wedding gift?"

"I..." Pent hesitated. Ever since it had been delivered to him perhaps two weeks ago, this book, authored by an 'Eclair Coltsfoot', had commanded much of his attention. Constrained by the lack of time, he had read it chapter by chapter at night, though not because he enjoyed it. To admit such a thing would make him a far weaker man in spirit that he believed himself to be. This line of thought lead him to say, in a diplomatic tone of voice, "It's quite intriguing. The author, whoever she may be, certainly did her research if everything here is to be taken as the factual truth."

"It is," Catherine stated. "You can be assured of that."

"I imagine I am not the only one who received a copy of this."

Smiling, Catherine turned towards the window. "The king should have his own by now, as well as his advisors and other influential lords of the land. I imagine this list of the man's misdeeds will be enough to spur His Majesty into action."

"He didn't react when I came to him," Pent pointed out. "Is that what earned your ire and caused this response?"

"I would have ruined him whether or not King Mordred did anything at all. That man hurt my daughter; it was no less than what he deserved."

There was nothing said between either of them for a long moment; Catherine kept her head turned towards the moon, and Pent looked down at the book that was written by no less of a hand than his own mother-in-law's. Having no particular interest in literature, he had been curious to receive a book as a wedding gift, but the title of it had been enough.

_The House of the Hibiscus._

Its format was unlike any other he had seen before, using fictional names but describing events with such detail that he was certain they depicted reality itself. The knight general's past was here, from every man he used to every woman he threw away. To release this to all levels of nobility was to ask for no mercy towards the man - a terrible revenge. When he and Louise would go to Aquleia during their honeymoon, he knew what he would hear by then: the clamor of voices for Alfred to be stripped of the generalship, of his noble title. He had hurt a lot of people, many barely cloaked by fictitious names, and they would come for him once they knew just how deeply the wounds had gone through. They would probably not even question the name Eclair Coltsfoot until the bloodletting was over and the nobles emerged from their frenzy with clearer minds, but by then how much would that matter? If he understood just how injured the nobles who had been wronged would be by the revelations of the book - and he thought he did - then they would not even mind so long as the noble house that bore the hibiscus was no more and its members strewn to the winds and forced into obscurity. But, however dishonorable his actions were, the man had a wife and at least one child; they would not be spared. Pent knew this already too, because no one would ever care about a man's 'attachments.'

The note on the inside cover had been brief: 'Eclair for my affinity, and Coltsfoot means 'justice will be done.' I take upon this name to become the divine lightning that will annihilate the chief sinner in all this. I wish you all the best in life with my daughter.'

He looked at her again, that diminutive, petite figure now bathed in light, and remembered when once he had seen her covered in the sunset, the color of her eyes indistinguishable. Now, in the moonlight, she almost seemed holy but for her actions.

_I understand_, he thought, _I really do. But you went too far, Lady Catherine._

-0-

"Ah...I don't think he appreciated my gift, that boy."

At the sound of his wife's voice, Gérald looked to the bed from where he was sitting and frowned at the sight of his wife in disarray, drowning in ripples of her dark purple silk chemise and the white foam that was the thin coverlet provided to them for the unusually warm night. "Are you ever going to get out of bed? The morning rehearsal is in two hours, and I know how long you like to prepare."

"Hmm." She turned her head away from him, her long braid snaking out from under her head and along the side of her pale neck. "They do serve breakfast in bed. That's the difference between our lives."

"Catherine..."

"Oh, fine, if I must." With a huff of exasperation, his wife left their bed and stormed over to the small table in the room where he sat, taking the chair next to his. "You really don't know how to enjoy yourself, dear."

Gérald picked up the cup of tea that the maid had served at his requested waking time, seven in the morning. That was still too late, but he decided he would allow himself that much in celebration of his only child's wedding.

Strangely, he only felt a dull sense of discomfort regarding the whole affair. His only child, his precious daughter...

"Dear?" he could hear his wife's voice, its pitch higher with concern. "What's wrong?"

He felt loathe to mention it, so he delayed by taking a sip of tea. It was all right for tea. "Just the wedding. Nothing to concern yourself with."

Surprisingly, there was no immediate reply. It was only when he turned to her and found the soft smile of suppressed amusement on her face that he realized she was probably trying to hold back whatever was on her mind out of courtesy for him. That made him only more disconsolate, so he rolled his eyes before returning to his tea. He was content with ignoring his wife until she laid a hand upon his forearm, and when he looked (he always looked when it came to her) he found a considerably more agreeable smile on her face. It was one without the usual sardonic edge, and it made her look years younger just to not have that sarcastic bitterness, that keen intelligence doubling with her ultimately faithless belief in others, overtaking her natural good looks. She was always beautiful, but in this moment she was pure.

"Wasn't it funny when the maid looked so shocked that we wanted to share a room? I think they must be such prudes in this place." She laughed a little; her hand ran down and encircled his wrist. "Or do you think we seemed so reserved? After all, we have lived our entire married life with a child or the expectancy of that child. When she is gone, what do you think will change between us, knowing that we don't have to live together for the sake of her?"

Gérald looked at her, not quite comprehending where she was leading him with her words, but disliking the implications all the same. "We live together for the sake of each other, the same as before," he answered slowly. "Why else?"

"You haven't thought of it, dear?" she asked, her gaze strangely imploring. "Not once have you ever thought about what life would be like without our daughter with us?"

Looking down at her tightening grip on his wrist, he considered her words a bit before looking up at her face. He could not say that she looked distraught, not exactly, but there was something real there, in her eyes, in the shape of her mouth, that was not the overconfident woman he had married. "Have I done something to make you this anxious?" he asked, putting down his cup of tea to reach out and cup her face. "Why all these doubts now, Catherine?"

With a toss of her head, she let go of his wrist and sat back, her old demeanor reasserting itself. "Oh, that Nella. I do so love her like perhaps a distant cousin, but during our first meeting in all these years she went on and on she about her children and all their petty problems as if she weren't exacerbating them with her interest. Her entire world is about her husband's children and the adopted one. How very annoying, really."

"You've never been like that," he commented. His wife glared at him.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means you let Louise grow how she wanted. It doesn't mean you cared less for her than your friend does with her own brood."

There was a slight hesitance, then, "You'd always wanted more children."

"I would prefer one Louise to a passel of brats."

"What if they weren't brats?" Catherine challenged, leaning forward and staring directly at him. "What if they were all Louise's equal?"

He winced, hoping she hadn't seen that reaction, then shook his head. "I would have liked that, yes. But would they have a mother by the end of it?" The involuntary flinch on her end was not too obvious, but he knew all her movements and that was not one of the natural ones. "Catherine, you are my wife. We have learned to compromise."

"Hah, perhaps so." With a slight smile on her face, she tapped his foot with one of her own. "You know I have always loved you, correct? Even when I knew better, I could not help myself."

With a shrug of his shoulders, he turned back to his tea. It was cold, but he finished it anyway. "I've always loved you, because I knew that was always the right way. Now, no more of this. We have a rehearsal to attend."

Laughter came from her, high and sweet, but when he turned to ask her about it, she was already floating towards the door to Lisette's room as if it was just another day. Yet the clock said it was already a quarter past eight and he was still indoors. Slovenly behavior, his blessed father and _Maman_ would surely have said were they still alive, and for a long time he had arranged his life to guard against such words. But this was not as unpleasant as they had made it seem, this staying indoors while the sun was already in the sky.

Perhaps once they returned he would do this more often.

-0-

Celia thought the morning rehearsal had went well and told such to Lisette, who listened to her with the same warmth that Celia imagined all Mothers of the convents held within themselves.

Soon. Soon. Two more weeks and she would cloister herself as an acolyte nun. Yet...

She made a small noise as her needle poked her thumb, bringing it up to her mouth quickly so that she wouldn't bleed on the mending. As they were undergarments Lady Louise would be bringing with her on her honeymoon month, it was vital to keep everything at its absolute best.

"You haven't done that since you were young," Lisette said with a smile. "Are you worried?"

Celia lowered her head, using her loose hair to hide as much of her face as possible as she shook her head. "There isn't anything to worry about," she mumbled after she removed her thumb from her lips, satisfied that the needle hadn't broken skin, "because they've fought so hard to be together. I'm sure their marriage will be one for the ages."

She could hear Lisette laughing before she raised her head and watched the older woman do it before her. "Oh, Celia, that wasn't it at all. I meant you and your plans. Are you worried?"

Celia couldn't help but sigh at the question. In the months before it seemed she had been interrogated at length by Lady Catherine regarding her employment; even Master Gérald had questioned her on if she understood what it meant to leave her employ for the Church. She did understand, she understood it very well, but it seemed everyone was happier believing that she was a naive child to the end. Even Lady Louise...ah, but she shouldn't think that. Lady Louise was only worried.

"I'm not worried," she said after a moment. "I leave everything to His will."

The smile Lisette had on her face was a sad one, and it pained Celia to see it. The woman before her had taught a little runaway girl how to be sister, friend, and maid to the little girl-heir of the family, and in those ten years she was still as warm and friendly as ever, even as her dark hair seemed to collect little streaks of gray and her large hands trembled just a little while she worked on delicate embroidery. Before Lisette, Celia had never really understood what it meant to have a mother, only a shadow that loomed at the edge of all her earliest memories; now she knew, and that made her understand just how much she would feel the loss.

Almost as much as it would hurt to leave Lady Louise for the last time, she imagined.

"...I don't mean to stand in your way, Celia, but I'll ask you one more time to really consider what it means to cloister yourself. I don't doubt that you could bear the loneliness, but for Lady Louise's sake-"

Celia put her mending down onto the table they shared. "Lisette, please-"

"No, listen to me. Lady Louise is a sweet child, the very best of young ladies our Etruria has to offer, but even she has her faults. She can very easily succumb to her emotions and follow a twisted path without you to guide her. And, she will be entering this noble house as its lady and mistress very soon, but she will be doing so without a trusted confidant at her side should you go your path immediately."

"She will have Lord Pent," Celia said, her voice an octave higher than she had ever heard it before. To this, Lisette shook her head.

"A husband is many things in time, but she needs more than him to balance herself in these early days. She needs someone who is not connected to her as both lover and master. She needs her best and dearest friend - she needs you." Reaching out to her from across the small table where all their supplies were set up, Lisette held the hand Celia was using to grip her work. "Couldn't you push your plans back just for one more year?"

"She will be fine," Celia stated with some force. "Lisette, please. I've already made up my mind. I'm not changing it. This is what I want."

"But you were running away from the convent before, so-"

"I was seven!" Celia yelled. "Please, just stop!"

It was only when the door opened that Celia realized she was now standing, her face hot with the humiliation of having to endure this-this attack on what she wanted. What was the truly terrible part was finding that it was Joshua who had barged into the small parlor, because Joshua was the very last person she ever wanted to see.

"I heard yelling," he explained as she turned her face away from him. "Is something wrong?"

"It's nothing," Celia was about to say, but her voice was softer than Lisette's own saying, "Ah, Master Joshua, we were only talking about Celia's plans."

"Oh, the convent." And then, "Actually, I wanted to talk to her about the same thing...well, mostly. If you don't mind, Miss Celia."

Forced into this moment by the mention of her name, Celia turned to face in Joshua's direction without meeting his eyes. "What can I do for you, Master Joshua?"

"I keep saying this, but you don't have to call me that. Joshua is fine. But I guess that's not going to matter soon anyway. I just wanted to say that...Louise is strong, so maybe you're right that she doesn't need you and that her husband will be enough, but I don't think that's true. Not in the way you're thinking it. Louise is always going to need us, I think. As long as you keep in contact with her no one has the right to complain about what you want to do with your life. And, also...could you look at me, please?"

She did, and just like every other time she saw the same thing: a handsome young man she felt nothing for but everyone else seemed to feel she should, simply because he was interested in her. But she couldn't express how much she hated Lady Catherine's attempts to put them together, or how badly she felt whenever Lady Louise talked about how good it was to find love with another person. No one understood, or cared to understand, that the only thing she was seeking was a love that surpassed the simple boundaries of man and wife. Over the years she had suppressed a need in her heart to spread Saint Elimine's words to all those who would hear them. She wanted a deeper understanding of those words so that she could better help others. It was a duty that would last her to her dying day, and she couldn't wait to begin it.

"I really like you," he said, his light green eyes full of that same earnestness that seemed to be a family trait upon the Émile line. "I know you don't feel the same for me, but I wanted you to know that...if you find the convent not to your liking, I-I'm here for you."

The words meant nothing to her. There was nothing in her chest but a dull echoing of discomfort, because despite his confession she had no idea why it would be necessary for her to hear this. It seemed to be more for himself than for her, and that bothered her more than anything. "I'm sorry," she said, turning her face away from him. "It's not necessary."

He didn't reply for a long moment, and when he did his voice sounded a little strained. "Oh. Um, then I'm sorry to bother you. Miss Celia, I hope you have a good life doing what's right for you. I...guess I'll see you at the afternoon rehearsal, then." His footsteps, soft as they were, sounded like the distant sound of an ending, a true finality to a part of her life.

She was not sorry to hear it.

When she looked up, she found Lisette staring at her, her always-smiling lips turned downward. "Don't you think that was a little cold of you, Celia?"

"No," she replied. "I don't have a responsibility for his feelings. It's better this way."

Lisette said nothing, only packing away her needlework into her basket before rising from her chair. The sound of the door behind the woman Celia had thought of as a mother was also a sound of something ending, and Celia found she didn't care for that one at all.

-0-

Looking around, Raike couldn't help but wonder, not for the first time, what business he had being the steward of the most illustrious noble house in Etruria, if not the continent, at the terribly youthful age of twenty-six. He could imagine his wife saying something like, "It's because of your talent," and she'd let him feel good about that for maybe a few minutes before starting in on the fact that he never came home. This was true because he hadn't been home for longer than it took to change clothes for the last few weeks.

Everything had to be perfect. Not because his lord demanded it of him - oh no, Lord Pent probably hadn't even noticed the castle changing all around him, not with Lady Louise around. No, this was for the sake of his own pride.

_I wonder what Dad would've thought of this._

"Something wrong?"

Raike opened his eyes - when had he closed them? Perhaps he was more tired than he had thought - and found Nestor before him, looking uncharacteristically worried. His son Antony had made sure the former mercenary became a family friend, inviting him over to their house almost every week to learn swordplay from him. Amaranth had expressed some doubts about it, but Raike didn't mind; his son had a goal and even at the age of six he was working hard towards it. It was no different from what his own dad had done for him, and Raike would always be grateful for it.

"Sorry, this wedding," Raike said by way of explanation, waving a hand flippantly at the last minute preparations raging around them. "What can I do for you?"

"There will be no security detail tomorrow?"

"No, he was very clear that everyone should be able to just enjoy themselves."

"And you agreed?"

Shrugging, Raike leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms, closing his eyes again. "I don't see any harm in it. I'm more concerned about tonight. The Reglay nobles are unpleasant, no matter how many or how few there are in one place. The cooks are terrified." He heard Nestor hum a nonchalant agreement and cracked an eye open enough to see that the man wasn't straying. "Are you worried about tomorrow?"

"More the honeymoon month than the wedding."

Raike couldn't help it, even though he was trying to be very solemn and approachable - he laughed. "When I approached Lord Pent with my own concerns, he said that he plans to pack some magic tomes and Lady Louise will have her bow and arrows." The count also said something terribly droll about how many people were allowed to enjoy a honeymoon at once, but Raike thought he'd just keep that to himself. "Anyway, all things considered, I'm not worried. They'll be mostly around Aquleia as it is."

"...You said, 'All things considered...'" Raike rubbed at his eyes and focused his attention on Nestor as the other man began to talk. "Do you mean the king's offer?"

"Lord Pent told you about that, then?"

"Yes."

If that's true, there's no point in not talking about it, Raike decided. "I don't know what he'll choose, but it is an attractive offer. Becoming a commander at the age of nineteen isn't necessarily rare, but it can only increase his stature. If nothing else, the Reglay nobility will think twice about plotting against him."

There seemed to be a relaxing in Nestor's stance, though the man was so stocky and muscular that Raike couldn't really point out anything that definitely showed it. "He used the upcoming wedding to avoid answering immediately," Nestor noted in a quiet voice. "If he chooses to, it will only be out of duty to his country."

"Well, didn't you feel the same when he asked you to join the castle guard?" Raike asked, curious. To this, Nestor smirked and looked away.

"Those who work get to eat."

Raike laughed, more quietly this time. "True. Anyway, I think he'll eventually accept it. Maybe out of duty, maybe just to enhance his magic skills. The mage general did suggest it to the king, so I heard."

Nestor said nothing for a moment, hardly unusual for the man, before he turned around. "The mage general already has a successor." It was difficult for Raike to hide the sudden burst of emotion he always felt whenever someone mentioned the mage general, even after all these years, but he managed as best he could.

"Yes, his daughter, the lieutenant-general."

"Seems pointless."

Yawning, Raike hurried to hide his widening mouth with his hand. "No, no, Lord Pent doesn't have the ambition for it. Sorry, but I'm going to my office now."

"All the work is out here."

"I know, that's why I'm getting away from it," Raike said with a laugh. "Our lord and lady will have a perfectly boring honeymoon, come back safe and sound, and have a nice, boring life together. They've earned it. So, don't worry about the future so much."

"Is that any way for a steward to talk?"

Laughing as he walked away, Raike decided that, if he was going to catch an hour's worth of sleep anywhere, it might as well be in his own bed. His wife would be annoyed and his sons would probably wake him up within the hour, but there was no place like home, right?

_And if it weren't for the dinner tonight, I'd actually do it, too_, Raike thought with a rueful sigh. _The wedding can't come any sooner..._

-0-

It was surprising for a day in early May to be so warm in the late afternoon, not quite humid but strange enough to become the hour's quintessential conversation-opener. For the two entering the Reglay Castle flower gardens, it was perfect weather for a longer stroll than either had anticipated - but both secretly preferred it. Arm-in-arm they walked past cultivated gardens of all shapes and sizes, from blooming marigolds of an orange every bit as warm and inviting as a low-lit hearth to ice-white chrysanthemums, violets of the deepest indigo to petite daises of every playful hue. There were gardenias, lavender sprigs, bellflowers, dahlias, lilies of all different persuasions and colors, irises, and so many varieties of tulips that an entire market could have been created and ruined by them alone. And then, as it was Reglay's flower, they came upon the most elaborate, exquisite garden that was held by many as a treasure of Etruria - the rose garden. Normally bustling with visitors both native and foreign, for the past week it had been closed while the final preparations had been completed; now, in the early evening the day before the wedding, it was as devoid of human life as the ruins of Valor or the Nabata Wasteland.

"It's like our own private world," Louise murmured, unable to leave the sentiment unspoken. Pent smiled slightly, mentally clamping down on the fact that it was, in essence, exactly that; his ancestors had held differing ideas on whether to keep it closed to the public or not, but he couldn't see what would be accomplished by keeping all this to himself. Besides, he didn't feel like changing the current atmosphere for the sake of an ill-timed jibe.

"Why don't you sit down?" he asked, indicating a stone bench close to an iron gate that did little to impede the path of the greatest of the rose bushes. At her curious look, he elaborated, "You were wincing during the rehearsal. I thought perhaps it was because of your shoes."

A pretty blush of embarrassment crossed her face at this observation, which she tried to hide with her free hand. "They pinch a little...you could tell?"

He could tell only because she was more obvious about trying to hide the pain than she was about the pain itself, but he, sadly, had to leave that alone as well. "Not too much," he instead said, and her expression brightened a little. Her letting go of his arm was no reward for his restraint, but she was considerably happier once she was able to let her feet rest. As she smoothed the skirts of her dress, he approached the iron gate and reached for one of the overhanging roses. It had not completely bloomed, an adolescent in the life of a flower, and as he stroked the petals with the pad of his thumb he could see that it was unbruised no matter how thoroughly he examined it.

For her part, Louise watched his profile as he studied the rose, unable to help the smile on her face. He looked so intense that she felt perfectly content to watch him, because these moments revealed something all at once both fascinating and a little awe-inspiring. Once, when she was younger, she had watched a storm off the coast; all of its energy had been concentrated at that faraway point, dark and forbidding...yet, it was also majestic in its primal essence. While she could not say he was entirely like this, there was a singular feeling inside of her whenever she noticed this intensity in him that made her understand that he was made for great things in the future.

And she would stand by him.

When he flinched from running his thumb too firmly on a thorn along the rose stem, it seemed as though the both of them had gasped a little in surprise, he from the sudden pain, her from the broken spell of admiration she had cast on herself. They were both a little embarrassed after the fact, though Pent hid it better by working to relieve the stem of all its thorns. Louise had settled for staring ahead of her, where the deep red roses that were a part of the Reglay heraldry seemed to have burst open in blooms of blood, inwardly a little happy that her dear lord was fiddling with roses of a lighter red. The slight throbbing in her feet had a rhythm to it that lulled her into closing her eyes; perhaps she could excuse herself earlier from the dinner tonight and promise herself a full night's rest...

"Are you nervous?"

"Mm?" She looked over at him to find him still occupied with the rose, although he was looking in her direction. "About the wedding?"

He smiled like he wanted to tease her. "About the dinner tonight."

"Oh." She giggled to hide her error. "Perhaps a little. I hope they will be kinder."

"It would be nice," he said. "Are you nervous about the wedding?"

Stretching her arms out in front of her, she took a deep breath before exhaling. "I'm...not sure!"

His hands paused in their work, the look on his face revealing the depth of his confusion with just an arched eyebrow and a tilt of his head. "You're quite enthusiastic about it."

"I think that's for the best," she responded in an almost prim manner before giggling. Her hands were folded on her lap in a very ladylike manner before she asked in return, "Are you nervous, Lord Pent?"

"With all the rehearsing, I have to wonder if I would be allowed to," he answered, his tone dry. "The anxiety would make it feel more real, in a sense."

She nodded. It was very true what he said. "But I wouldn't want to embarrass myself, either. There is also my ascension ceremony right afterward, and that is in front of all the county nobility. And then there is the witness the king sent to approve it all..."

"The Duke and Duchess Blancmont, yes. They should be arriving soon."

"Will they be attending the dinner as well?"

"I expect they will take their meal in their own rooms. I've heard that's how it's usually done in other counties."

Louise nodded again, recognizing the slight squirming of nervous interest now working within her. Was what was now happening suddenly more real to her? Pressing a hand to her stomach, she wondered if it wouldn't actually be better without the anxiety, if having it would force her to forget some of the events of what she knew would be one of the most incredible days in her life. Then after marriage, it seemed as if she could see nothing but endless roads running into each other - there was so much potential before her that she was nearly overwhelmed by it all.

For his part, Pent could only see one road, and as he plucked the rose very carefully from the greater plant he made the choice to take it. "Louise," he said, her name anchoring him to this point in time and what he had promised himself he would do, "may we talk?"

She looked at him, confusion clear on her face. "Aren't we already?" Then, surprise overcame it. "Oh, is something wrong?"

"No, I..." He stopped, centered himself within the world and all the elements of nature, then realized that he would be nervous no matter how long he convened with the spirits. With two brisk steps he was in front of her, where he knelt on one knee and offered her the rose. "Louise, please marry me."

Louise giggled. "Where have you been, Lord Pent? Our wedding is tomorrow!" He smiled a little but said nothing in response, and it was by degrees of realization that Louise came to understand he was being completely serious. "Lord Pent...?"

"I've never told you that," he stated. "There has always been the expectation that we would marry, and I have never been adverse to the idea so long as it was you, but I've never told you that I...that I _want_ to marry you." He paused, knowing that her attention would be riveted on him no matter how long it took for him to compose his thoughts into workable order. When he felt he had done so, he continued, "Ever since we met, you've brightened my life and I have to admit I've never felt more happy or connected with the world at large. Having lived a time without being able to speak with you, yet having known what it was like to have you in my life, I've found that I never want to live without you beside me. So, even though we are getting married, I wanted you to know how much it means for me to have you in my life, that...this is what I want."

Very carefully, she reached out and touched the hand still holding a rose to her, her fingers running along his knuckles to the back of his hand to his wrist, then lightly holding his hand so that her fingertips were pressed against his palm. Her eyes shone with a liquid vibrancy that was not due solely to the color of them, and when she leaned forward and closed her eyes her lashes were wet, but then there was nothing else he needed to see as he closed his own eyes and accepted her kiss.

"Lord Pent," she whispered when they parted, "let's have a wonderful wedding. Let's share our happiness with everyone, and for that time everyone can also be happy..."

"Yes," he agreed, because in that moment he did not doubt it could happen. Playfully tapping the rose against her lips, he smiled as she giggled and moved her head away before he kissed the flower and offered it to her again. She took it this time, and by the time they rose to leave the garden it was in her hair, each petal of the young rose bright red and without a blemish, and from far away it seemed as if all of them were melding together, like a single road that led to an endless amount of possibilities.

One Flower For Two Hands: Red Rose  
(_i love you_)


	28. To Prepare a Garden

bouquet

(C) Intelligent Studios and Nintendo

-0-

To Prepare a Garden: Five Stories

1. Rhubarb (_his advice_)

"You're awake."

Klein Martel had been watching his wife's eyelashes fluttering on her pale cheek for a moment before he spoke those words, and he did not regret it in the least when she opened her eyes to unleash a glare at him, though it was unsteady and she quickly closed her eyes again. "My lord husband. What an honor it is to be visited upon by you at the point of my death." She once had the loveliest voice in all Etruria, a match to her nearly ethereal beauty, but now it was weak, strained, and any barbs in her tone had long been worn down.

"Do you wish for me to leave?" he asked, his own tone even and revealing nothing. Sylphine, for all her theatrics, was always too disinterested in others to notice nuance, but he did not want to show her weakness now.

She brought one thin arm up to cover her eyes; he was thankful that the many blankets she needed to keep warm even in the summer hid the deterioration of her slender frame. The arm, white as ivory and with little flesh to call its own, urged within him a deepening revulsion that he had difficulty abating. "I don't know why you're here," she said, her voice little more than a whisper. "I don't know why you bother pretending you care."

Sometimes he wondered the same thing; at other times he believed it was no pretense. It was difficult when the image of the gorgeous, unfailingly arrogant woman he had chosen to marry was stripped down in his mind to this slip of illness and blind hostility. For now though, he tried patience. "You are my wife."

"Is this all that being a count's wife amounts to?" For a long moment she coughed into a fresh, though wrinkled handkerchief balled in her upraised hand. "I don't know why I bothered to win a share of an old man's bed."

Because her eyes were still closed, he allowed himself an arched brow of disbelief. They had never shared a bed the whole night through. "You should be grateful you bore a son, then," he said after he had composed himself sufficiently.

She opened her eyes then, disgust sharpening her eyes and making them almost familiar to him. "That child is my only legacy...I would rather live to see old age than to have the privilege of bearing _that_."

"I would think you would prefer self-destruction over finding a single wrinkle on your face," he said, a little more out of a fit of pique than he would like to admit. He did not have high hopes for the boy, but he had always been perturbed by Sylphine's utter lack of maternal feeling. His late sister-in-law had been much more commendable, and so her daughters had shone from such affectionate care.

They did not speak for a long time. Klein thought it would have been better to leave, but he could not find it in himself to go through the effort. The family physician had warned him that his wife's time was nigh, and he had...he had wanted to be honest to her, just once.

_I did not love you, but I respected you for all you've done for Reglay._

Did she know it was the end? Did she know and yet continued on as if to deny reality's sting one final time? Klein thought he would not like the answer, but still he continued to sit at her sickbed.

"Did you send him away?" she asked. It took him a moment to realize who she meant.

"I did."

"When?"

"Two weeks ago."

"Where?"

"Your father."

"My brother won't be pleased," she murmured. A moment, and then, "He won't remember me."

Klein paused, then decided to speak honestly. "He need only look into the mirror to remember you."

His wife closed her eyes. "I want to die already. I want to be walking in God's country, rather than suffering in this body. I'm not even twenty-five...why should I have to bear this indignity?"

"Sylphine, I -"

"That child."

"What?"

"That child looks so useless. How could he have come from my body?" His wife coughed; there was blood this time. "Could he really have any talent that could make him loved by me? I'll never see it." She looked at him, her eyelids drooping. "If he has talent in anything, cultivate it. I had to work so hard, but you have funds enough. If he's an actor, or a singer..."

"If he is any of those things, I will disown him," Klein said with a certain amount of grimness that he could not hide, not even for her sake. "He must be of use to this house first and last."

Sylphine closed her eyes. "I wish he wasn't yours. I could have loved him if he wasn't yours."

There was nothing Klein could say to that. He rose from the chair at her bedside and stared down at the wan face, the dull gray-blue hair that seemed much thinner. "If you are going to die, do it with the dignity of a Countess Reglay, not of the common entertainers you've played with during your time here." He left after those words, but came back the next day for more of the same.

She lingered for a few days more. Klein had been at her bedside when she passed away. The arrangements for her funeral and burial had already been made when it was clear she would not recover, so all he could do now was work. He didn't want to bring the boy back, not even after a few years had passed, but everything had been for the sake of producing an heir. And when Klein himself faced the end, he wondered if his son understood the role that now awaited him.

Everything for the sake of House Reglay. You could not be Count Reglay and do any less.

2. Star of Bethlehem (_her guidance_)

Frustrating thing, this last responsibility. So very much so. If she could have made Gérald do it, of course she would have, but it required a gentle but firm hand. Men often lacked this distinction, and it would not do to frighten Louise unnecessarily.

A little bit, not an unnecessary amount.

"Mother, you wished to see me?"

Catherine straightened, smoothing out the skirts of her dress in what was decidedly _not_ a nervous reaction before gesturing her daughter to come sit beside her. Her daughter, her only child, was set to be a bride tomorrow morning, so perhaps this final duty had been delayed too long, but she was reasonably certain that Louise still lacked knowledge about her chief duty as a countess.

(If not, she was going to have to pay Lord Pent a visit after this.)

Her daughter sat down next to her on the chaise lounge, her movements fairly electric with suppressed anticipation. Louise had always been this way, easily charmed and easily more excitable by the events around her, and Catherine had to admit that she felt maternal pride at the lovely young woman before her, which in turn colored her words and softened her tone. "Dear Louise, you certainly look ready to marry."

Her daughter giggled, stifling her laughter behind her hands. "Ye-es, but I'm also so nervous I feel as if I could burst!"

"Anticipation, you mean," Catherine stated dryly. Louise's face reddened in that adorable way that only a few girls could manage; Catherine had never been one of those. "Louise, I would like to ask you something."

Perhaps that was too formal, for Catherine could see her daughter frown in confusion. "O-of course, Mother. What is it?"

"I wonder if you understand a wife's first duty," said Catherine with a bit of a smile. She watched her daughter fidget, then nod.

"I do, Mother."

"Which is?"

"To love my husband with all of my might," Louise said, her eyes lowered and the corners of her lips turned upward. "To support him, and to be by his side..."

Oh, this girl. The endless romanticism was obviously from her father. At times like this, it was a little tiresome. "A countess' first duty, then."

"Ah..." A troubled look crossed her daughter's lovely face, her gaze averting away from Catherine. Adopting such a fragile look when Louise was anything but strangely annoyed Catherine, and with annoyance came a decision to end this gentle approach.

"To bear an heir," Catherine said for Louise. "That is your duty as Lord Pent's wife. And children come about from intimate contact with him. That is to say -"

"I-I know, Mother," Louise said in a rush of words, "I'm a little aware..."

_Calm_, Catherine told herself, _you've not noticed anything out of the ordinary._ "From where?"

"Mm..." her daughter murmured in that very familiar way; it meant that whatever was going to come out of her mouth next would be softened as much as Louise could, something that did not help Catherine's mood. "Well, once I went with Father to the Asages' manor, and we were all taking a walk by the stables when they were mating their stallion -"

"And your father explained it to you?" Catherine asked in growing horror.

"Ye-es, a little, and only because..." Her daughter blushed. "Since it was right there..."

That was more than enough, thank you. "Louise, dear, put it out of your mind. It is nothing like _that_."

A look of relief crossed her daughter's face. "I-I see. Then..." She began to fidget with her hands, that habit of hers whenever she was overly nervous and could no longer suppress it. "What should I, um, expect?"

Catherine was too well-bred to openly react, but if she could she would have hid her face in her hands. What does one say in answer to that when their daughter's wedding was tomorrow? And, more importantly, what did she know to say? In her young womanhood, Catherine knew full well her duty to bear children, preferably male, for the satisfaction of her husband. Her own was never an issue. She had wondered if men had an instinct for carnal knowledge that coursed through their veins and transmitted all they needed to know at the moment, for it seemed that no one had to tell a man what to do. But women were constrained by morals, and Catherine had found there was no real instinct when it had been her time, perhaps because she so rarely moved on instinct. Her daughter seemed to do nothing but move based on little more than emotion, and so...

"...Many men see it as the physical manifestation of love. I cannot say as to what your lord husband's feelings would be, but you should consider well on this point."

_I am too liberal a mother_, Catherine thought. Letting Louise off with such advice seemed foolhardy, but another part of her considered that such an idea was perhaps all that the girl needed. Let Louise decide on the tone of her interactions with her new husband, rather than frighten her unnecessarily.

Hmph, 'unnecessarily'. If she said anything too unnecessary, that would certainly give Lord Pent a harder time than was right. Maybe being kind was a better wedding gift than her efforts bringing down that blackguard of a duke.

"Is that what it is?" Louise said, no longer wringing her hands. The look on her face was contemplative, a look that bestowed a certain amount of womanly softness that had not yet fully come out on her pretty face. Seeing it there now made Catherine think that her daughter could, with a few more years of maturity, be one of the more luminous beauties of the Etrurian court. It surprised her to think that, because she had never thought the child she would bear would ever suffer to have beauty over brains.

_Certainly that is Gérald's fault too_, Catherine thought kindly, _but that does not mean Louise lacks anything. No...my daughter is perfect._

3. Hollyhock (_her ambition_)

It was mid-morning when Jacqueline arrived at the palace. Because she was so familiar to the servants there, they had initially asked her to wait until the king was out of his meeting before she shook her head.

"No, I'm here to visit Her Majesty."

After this, they led her to the drawing room with which she was so familiar, because Jacqueline was not just the lieutenant-general of the Etrurian army's mage division, nor was she just lady and representative of House Seine, the duke and duchess' eldest child. Her Majesty entered just moments later, and with a flick of her golden head and the unrolling of long white lace gloves, the queen of Etruria had become no less than Rosalie-Marie, Jacqueline's only friend from the convent in which they had been raised for several years together.

"Jacqueline, you are always so prompt. I could time the clocks in the palace by your appearance," Rosalie-Marie teased, all sweetness and light. "How is the duke and duchess?"

"Mother is well. She has been eating more recently. I-" and here she paused as a maid entered the room to serve them tea. Before she began again, Jacqueline prepared her tea with the dab of cream and two drops of honey that was her lone indulgence and took a sip. "The general has been resting as the doctor ordered."

Rosalie-Marie, Jacqueline noticed, did not put anything into her tea. The convent had taken hold of her friend longer, but Jacqueline also had suspicions that her friend was abstaining for other reasons. "And how is your brother?"

"He finds great interest in bugs as of late," Jacqueline stated. "He delights in showing all who approach his rooms his great collection of them. Mother finds it difficult to visit him because of it."

"He still cannot communicate?"

As she always did when talking about her family, Jacqueline imagined the greater pressure in her mind as nothing but a small sphere, tinier than a bead of anima potential, no more deadly than an ant. But it did not help, and so with great hesitance she continued. "He is already an adult. If he has not been able to speak a single word in the last seventeen years, he will not do it on his eighteenth."

Rosalie-Marie leaned forward, her face the image of beautiful anguish. "But you must have hope, Jacqueline. One day the heir of your family will have his mind restored to him, and you will be free. I believe it must be so, so please..."

"Yes, of course," Jacqueline said quickly. The deeply emotional highs and lows that her friend suffered from were said to have led to the first miscarriage. "Now, how is the king?"

"Oh, he's quite well," Rosalie-Marie said, her smile making her look younger than her twenty-one years of age. "Nothing seems to have dampened his spirit as of late."

"Not even the business with the knight general?" Jacqueline asked, fairly surprised. Her friend's smile dimmed.

"That family aside, things are well."

"Has he decided on a punishment yet?"

Rosalie-Marie shook her head. "It's a delicate manner, but in seeking God's wisdom there will be a satisfactory conclusion to the whole thing. I only wish it could be easier on His Majesty..."

"You are there to make it easier for him," Jacqueline said lightly. Rosalie-Marie smiled at this, but not for very long before a grim expression asserted itself on her finely-molded features.

"I am but a queen, and in these five years of marriage I have prayed for the wisdom to help guide him...but I have not discovered it within myself yet. With that, and..." Rosalie-Marie briefly pressed a hand to her flat stomach, "...I fear I am not his chosen partner, but rather only the most convenient one. I...fear a lot of things."

"Don't fear," said Jacqueline before she reached over the tea table to grasp her friend's hand. It was soft, impossibly so, and with that touch she felt a measure of peace that often eluded her when she was home. "Your purity matched his. He feels this no less than you, I'm sure. Your being by his side draws him that much closer to achieving God's will upon Etruria. Your words and thoughts lead him to understand the saint's words and thoughts. His Majesty can love and cherish Etruria that much more because he has learned the fullness of these feelings from you."

Tears began to gather at Rosalie-Marie's eyes, but she did not hide her face. "You speak so well of love and marriage, and yet you are without a husband at your age." Then a little laugh, half sigh and half giggle, escaped her. "Your ambition still supersedes all, I see."

"It does." Removing her hand from her friend's, Jacqueline leaned back, reaching for her cup of cooling tea. "I will be the next mage general. I will protect my country, and I will protect you and the king. I can do no less."

"I remember the time you acceded to your father's wishes to attempt to win a husband. Count Reglay, was it not?" Rosalie-Marie folded her hands onto her lap, a slight smile that betrayed nothing of her feelings curving on her lips. It was not an expression that was natural on her face, and Jacqueline frowned to see it. "The contest that was won by the girl-child."

"The Etruscan girl, an archer." Jacqueline nodded. "I was thankful to lose. I had no intention of wasting my time as a count's wife. Better a girl who was bred to be a wife."

"Isn't that count being recruited into your division, Jacqueline? Certainly you would have to wait until his heir is born before he can be sent into battle."

Jacqueline sniffed. "You know as well as I do that the wedding is today. You even sent that ludicrous spymaster and his half-addled wife -"

"Jacqueline."

"Forgive me, I am of the military. I personally dislike the use of his spies, who lack professionalism, and I do find Duchess Blancmont a pain in society."

There was a doubting look on Rosalie-Marie's face that Jacqueline had seen a time or ten when they were children, usually because Jacqueline had been set, even then, on her sole ambition. "You do not often enter society. I do like Adeline. I think I will like her more than the new Countess Reglay."

It was not often her friend was so blunt with her opinions on others, which intrigued Jacqueline. "I'm not aware of anything offensive about the new countess."

"It was...it was her mother who wrote that book, that terrible thing. Because of it, His Majesty now has to decide on what to do." Rosalie-Marie took a sip of her tea, then lightly touched her face, a sign of her irritation. "And that woman was Hellene's great ally. It is all suspicious."

"Queen Hellene is visiting this week."

"She arrives tonight. She makes great trouble for His Majesty, and..." Rosalie-Marie sighed. "She looks down on me. I read her hostility in every letter, her mocking cruelty lurks in the spaces between the words, and yet I am to greet her as a beloved sister. Always praising her son, and then..." she stopped. Jacqueline could see plainly on her face that she was too affected to go on.

"...If it helps, I do not think the new Countess Reglay is of the same material as her mother or any other of that generation of arrogant, hard-hearted women," she started. "Her sincerity was plain to see that day, and everyone knows well now the efforts she put in to save Count Reglay. I think it would be unwise to pull away from a potential ally. I, for one, intend to extend friendship to her."

There again was Rosalie-Marie's doubtful look. "To attract the count's agreement to enter military service? I wonder if he is so malleable."

Jacqueline shook her head. "He will accept, possibly within a few months. He is a man of some power, and competent enough besides. He knows this, and his sense of honor will not allow him to decline if he knows he can be of some use."

Rosalie-Marie smiled at this, her hands clasped together as if truly pleased. "You've already planned this much, I see. Wonderful Jacqueline! You really bear your father's skill and understanding."

"Yes," Jacqueline said, pleased enough to allow herself a small smile. "The general has taught me well, even when he didn't think anything would come of it. But I am his daughter, and although I cannot be his legal heir, I can be his heir in this."

"Although I worry for you, I do believe you can do it. And I...I will do my duty as well," Rosalie-Marie said, reaching out to have her hands clasped in Jacqueline's, which the latter readily performed. "I will bear a prince of light, one who will be loved and who will love Etruria. Jacqueline, you must be his godmother when this comes to pass, and I will bear witness the day you are Mage General of Etruria."

Jacqueline smiled. "It can be no less than this. We will succeed."

4. White Lilac (_his candor_)

"Are you sure?"

After taking a moment to separate some paperwork, Raike lifted his gaze to his wife's look of displeasure. "I think it's best. He has a tendency to get distracted, and I don't think either one will rein themselves in and focus on the big issues. That isn't their fault, just a consequence of all that's happened in the last two years."

"They've just married. That's to be expected," his wife Amaranth retorted, brushing her forelocks out of her eyes.

Simply to annoy his wife, Raike said, "We weren't like that." It worked, he saw, because she twisted her mouth into a moue of disgust.

"I wonder why, between your trying to finish your final year exams and my situation."

Raike looked back down at the next report. "You can call it what it is. No one can judge us anymore for it."

"Ugh, I don't know why I bother to talk to you," Amaranth said, crossing her arms. From his peripheral vision he could see how small her frame looked in that large chair across his desk and thought to find a smaller chair for her use in the future. "Do you remember the last time, when you asked me to be Lady Louise's bodyguard? That by itself was too much to ask of me. Now you want me to 'guide her on the path of being a suitable Countess Reglay', even though we have children at home?"

"My mother can watch our sons. It'll be fine."

"I would like to raise my own children!" snapped Amaranth, surprising Raike with her sudden anger. "I'm in a country that allows me that much, so let me do it!"

Feeling his face warm in growing irritation, Raike shook his head as if to clear it. "Listen, Amy, I'm not asking you to neglect them. You won't be following her every move. And, what is for the good for the county will be even better for our family, since I am the steward again. I just worry that Lady Louise will be unsettled until she has her first child, so why not make sure she's at ease and knows her duty?"

"Raike, what would I possibly know about this? I was a pegasus knight, and I've been a maid. These are hardly qualifications for...whatever it is that you're asking of me this time." Now his wife was running her pale fingers down the length of her hair, its spring grass brightness still as entrancing now as it had been over six years ago, when they met and married. Were they happier back then, when he was just a lowly clerk of the castle? Raike no longer could remember; only his duty to House Reglay was before him now, for the sake of his family and for all the families of Reglay County.

And so, that meant making sure things wouldn't get out of hand. Raike wanted to continue to find pride in his work for the rest of his life.

"Amy, as I understand it, Lady Louise will no longer have her lady maid's services once the girl is done with the preparations, so she'll be lonely. I'm only asking for you to be her friend, and to be a moderating presence to her." Raike shrugged. "It isn't as though she's won all the hearts of the nobles of this land. They may be less thrilled with her than before, considering she more or less brought Lord Pent back from the dead. Who will be her confidant, if not you?"

"She's taken with the little maid Celia's now training to be her new lady's maid, but I see what you mean. I do like her, at least." Something seemed to occur to Amaranth by the way he saw something flash in her steel-gray eyes. "You keep saying that she needs to be moderated...why is that?"

"Lady Louise has a lot of youthful energy and a tendency to rush out and do what she feels is right," Raike explained as delicately as possible. His wife frowned a little.

"I suppose. She is just seventeen."

"That may be true, but for the sake of House Reglay, she needs to comport herself to her new title."

"Is that all you're worried about?" Amaranth said with a smile, leaning forward with her elbows on his desk. Raike smiled back, because his wife finally understood his feelings.

"For Lord Pent's sake, Lady Louise needs to understand her place. Not only because he tends to be distracted by her, but...she might do something to harm House Reglay, and he'll be forced to lose his prestige by protecting her. So, I don't mind saying that she needs to be restrained a bit."

"When you say it like that, it sounds like you don't think she was suitable to your lord after all."

"She is suitable, but she's still a child."

"A child old enough to marry. And to a nineteen-year-old count, at that." Looking amused now, Amaranth leaned back in her chair. "They were younger than we were when we married, and we had been thinking like children back then too. I suppose I don't mind spending more time in the castle, although I'd rather mother my own children."

Raike smiled wider at this. "Once she has her first child, I think Lady Louise's attention will be so diverted by her child to do much else. Within a year, maybe two."

"Two is overdoing it for a love match like theirs, I think," Amaranth said with a giggle. "As long as I'm not charged to ride Hester into battle again, I'm fine with it. All right, dear?"

Looking into his wife's clear eyes, drinking in the fullness of her womanly beauty, Raike felt calmer than he had been in the months approaching the wedding. Now that his lord and lady were off on their honeymoon and wouldn't be back for nearly half a month more, he had to admit that he felt like things were finally falling into place. Lord Pent would come back and focus on his work, and Lady Louise would quickly bear an heir for House Reglay.

And peace would reign across Reglay's lands, and Raike and his family would never have to suffer the indignities of the last two years again. Yes, that was what he was striving for - a perfect period of calm.

It would happen. He would make sure of it.

5. Balm of Gilead (_his healing_)

Lately, Joshua Émile had taken up horseback riding for pleasure. He did it on the advice of his aunt, who said that she didn't like seeing him mope around the house, to which his uncle agreed on the bounds that Joshua needed to know Alloway's fields and roads better.

They were being kind, he knew. He loved them for that.

Joshua often rode to the small church by the roadside, which housed only an old priest and the young ladies of the nearby manors who came to do their duty as Lighter Elimineans and swept the floors and brought flowers to bring more of God's creations within the church. Sons from well-to-do families were not expected to do these chores, but Joshua hardly minded because he was used to cleaning up after his family. The other girls giggled over him, told him he should be a knight.

He thought so too - Celia was coming back to live at the small church, and he didn't want to see her but wanted to so much that he knew he had to avoid her.

Uncle Gérald let him have more time to himself, entire days - "You're very good, you pick up things easily, so I'd rather have you travel and understand the lands you'll be owning," he said in Etruscan, a look of something like understanding in his blue eyes - and Joshua gratefully took them. He rode around on the wild sorrel he had claimed as his and leisurely toured the region. Adopting Louise's daring, he visited the castle by himself and talked to Lord Aramis and Sir Luca, watched the knights train for battles they would never be involved in, and wondered what he was doing.

Aunt Catherine began to invite young ladies to the house, and Joshua would smile and greet them and long for copper-bright hair.

Then, nearly a month after the wedding, the news came: Celia was coming home.

Joshua fretted and paced, wishing he were like his elder brother, who knew how to talk to girls even if all that had ever brought him was trouble in return. Next to him on the veranda close to the stables was Celia's valise, packed by Lisette. Celia was to come back, return the horse left for her at Castle Reglay when the family returned to Alloway, and leave with her things. Uncle Gérald and Aunt Catherine were away, visiting a friend's home. Lisette was inside, sewing. It hadn't been decided that he would be left to give Celia her things, it was only designed that way.

He almost wanted to vomit from nervousness by the time he heard the familiar leisurely trots of Louise's friendly, if slow, mare. There was Celia riding sidesaddle, already dressed as an Etrurian Eliminean cleric, her beautiful copper locks flowing in the sea breeze.

This was no good, Joshua felt, but he was already picking up her valise and approaching her to stop this.

"Sister Celia," he greeted her, his heart wavering at her unreadable face, "you look well."

She seemed ready to say something before she paused, but then she looked away. "Master Joshua, you didn't need to do this."

"I-I do," he said, trying to smile at her even though she wasn't lifting her head. "I couldn't let you carry your things to the church. Please let me do this."

"I feel I can't stop you," she replied, her lips pale as she pressed them into one thin line. Pulling on the reins, she turned and began to trot back to the road. Joshua followed, the weight of the valise not at all a deterrent as he kept to the mare's flank. They kept on in silence as the midday sun poured down on them, their only relief the occasional breeze. It would only get hotter in the coming months, so there was no use in complaining, though Joshua remembered the shade from the great forests of Lycia and sighed.

The church was too close to the Émile manor to make this last goodbye drawn out. All he could do was watch her bright hair, the ends of her purple scarf, float in the wind, and the daintiness of her white gloves as she held the reins, and try to etch these things into his memory. When he was an old man, he wanted to be sure he remembered this feeling, this sad, quiet feeling, and the beauty of goodbye.

All too soon they were in front of the little church by the roadside. Celia climbed off of the mare before Joshua could begin to move to help her, and she did not look at him as she reached out one small hand for her valise. It did not feel cruel, what she was doing; it felt as though she was trying to be as kind as possible and not give him the barest sliver of hope.

But it hurt, like a slow burn searing his eyes, his chest.

He handed her the bag. "Thank you," she said, and turned away. He watched her enter the church, and then close its always-open door behind her.

"Ah...aha," he uttered, his chuckle strange to his own ears. That was it? That was all he had been waiting for?

_It doesn't always turn out right, does it, not like Cousin Louise and her lord count. I don't have the will like she does to force things into being right and good..._

Joshua laughed, more sincerely now as he recognized the self-pity in his thoughts. _I am a fool._

His smile small and tight, he reached for the mare's reins, which Celia had held not many moments before, and led her down the road. Louise's horse needed rest after the two-day trip, and when he patted her flank she nickered in what could be thought of as kindly. The road seemed to stretch forever in front of him, though it was only a brisk walk away from his home, and the thought made Joshua smile more honestly, more sadly.

_Goodbye, Celia._

He wished he had been able to say those last two words, but it was too late. That was fine. These feelings that had been seared into his memory, his heart, were to make sure he would never be too late again.

Next time he fell in love. He was sure there was going to be a next time.

-end-

Well, this extra story is only over two years late. The concept for this changed so many times over the last two years while I searched for something that worked. Less than two weeks ago I thought of just writing little scenes with secondary and even tertiary characters about themes that would become important in the sequel serial, and BAM! Inspiration. I also have a tendency to burn out and require two-year breaks, but that hadn't happened during my time in the FE fandom until now. I hope I can make one last good push until the end.

Thank you to everyone who supported bouquet during its two-year run; I hope seeing this pop up on Story Alert brightens your day! Oh yes, and as for the sequel serial...how about the first Friday of November? Singapore time, so it'll be out earlier for all of you in the U.S.


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